


Dyadic Communication

by KivaEmber



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masayoshi Shido's A+ Parenting, Oneshot Series, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: Akira Kurusu is the darling Detective Prince, and Goro Akechi is the criminal attic trash.This changes things a bit.or;A oneshot series on a roleswap au.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 181
Kudos: 804





	1. Billiards (Futaba Arc) - Akira/Goro

Kurusu was made for the stage. 

Goro came to this conclusion as he observed the famed Detective Prince neatly work over a pair of fans that interrupted their short stroll through Kichijoji’s main thoroughfare. Where Goro would’ve chased off the unwanted intrusion with cold stares and curt words, Kurusu shouldered a near-theatrical mantle, his grey eyes crinkled into a friendly smile. It looked genuine, scarily so, despite Goro knowing that Kurusu was fake right down to his very atoms.

“It was nice meeting you~” Kurusu chirped, waggling his fingers playfully at the giggling girls before moving away from them in a subtle dismissal. 

“Disgusting,” Goro muttered as Kurusu fell in step with him once more, resuming their walk towards Penguin Sniper.

“Is that _jealousy_ I detect, Akechi?” Kurusu mock-simpered, pressing a hand against his chest as he fluttered those fiendishly thick eyelashes at him. Goro had a passing yet intense urge to jam his thumbs into his eyes, “It would’ve been rude to ignore those girls.”

“Somehow I doubt you indulged them because of good manners,” Goro said dryly, drawing a light laugh from Kurusu. 

His laugh was pretty - manufactured. Goro observed the Detective Prince from the corner of his eye, taking in the easy smile and the crinkled eyes, a Cheshire like expression that coaxed the unwary to lean in, enchanted. Goro was wise enough not to fall for it. 

_trickster,_ something in Goro hissed, _snakeoil salesman. untrustworthy._

Yet, Goro was drawn to the mystery of him despite his misgivings. Kurusu’s eyes were keen, and his words were quick to issue challenges that Goro felt compelled to take. The time they spent together was akin to duelists warily circling each other, probing for weak spots, fumbles, trying to pry out the vulnerable parts and pierce through in one shot. They were, in essence, enemies, but Goro felt like no one else knew him better than Kurusu Akira, Detective Prince. 

And vice versa, though Goro could admit to himself that the more he learned of Kurusu, the less he understood. 

“You’re always so quick to think the worst of me, Akechi,” Kurusu murmured, not sounding hurt despite his words, “Everyone else thinks I’m _darling.”_

“You’re a snake,” Goro said bluntly.

“Ouch,” Kurusu’s smile sharpened, a hint of teeth _(fangs),_ “You know, in some cultures snakes are considered to be guardians. So, in a way, that fits me, mm? A guardian of justice?”

“And in others, they represent petty vengefulness and deceit,” Goro countered.

Something flickered across Kurusu’s expression, too fast to decipher. Goro didn’t bother hiding his mean smile, knowing he hit a sore spot. One more point to him. 

“Petty. I’m not petty,” Kurusu pouted, “When have I ever been petty?”

Goro levelled him with a look of total disbelief, “In our billiard matches?”

“That isn’t being petty, that is creatively interpreting the rules of the game,” Kurusu’s impish smile returned, “It isn’t my fault you’re too rigid to _adapt,_ Akechi.”

“I’ll show you rigid,” Goro growled, finding himself taking the bait before he could stop himself. Kurusu’s eyes were bright with amusement. 

“Mmm, I’m sure you will.”

“Tch,” Goro sharply looked away, adjusting his glasses roughly. Kurusu got under his skin too easily. 

“Ah, here we are,” Kurusu said, their pace slowing as they reached Penguin Sniper, “How about we have a friendly game of billiards? You know, to prove how adaptive you can be.”

Goro was tempted to reject him out of spite alone, slanting an irritable glare his way. Kurusu still had that Cheshire grin on his face, but there was something else too, a hopeful light in his eyes that softened the mockery Goro would otherwise see there. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Kurusu wanted to play with him out of simple enjoyment, and not because of some complex 4D chess move in this cat-and-mouse game they were playing.

Or it might be both. Kurusu was the ‘one stone, two birds’ type. 

“Only if you pay,” Goro said bluntly, and pulled out his trouser pockets to show them as empty, “I’m poor right now.”

“What on earth do you spend your money on, Akechi? You’re always poor,” Kurusu sighed, sounding a little fond, and gestured for his rival-enemy to follow him inside, “Fine, fine, I’ll pay for this trip. The next one is on you, though!”

That was what Kurusu said last time. Goro didn’t remind him of this fact, unable to stop himself from smiling smugly at coaxing a free game of billiards out of the foxy Detective Prince. 

Kurusu paid, and it wasn’t long before they launched into an intense game. They didn’t discuss the Phantom Thieves, or their troubles with Medjed, or even the situation between Sae and Sojiro. It was mostly just Kurusu trashing his billiard skills and laughing obnoxiously when Goro got so frustrated he almost ripped the billiard table’s felt when he fucked up a tricky jump shot. 

“I know I said I wanted you to show your adaptability, but destroying the billiards equipment won’t count towards a victory, you know,” Kurusu drawled when Goro frantically rubbed out the scuff mark he made.

“It’s a victory where I deny you the chance to gain more points,” Goro snapped, trying to ignore how hot his face felt when he lined up for another shot. His fringe fell into his eyes, and his glasses slid a little down the bridge of his nose, and he irritably puffed at his fringe to clear his vision, easing the cue back and-

“It’s a self-destructive victory,” Kurusu noted as Goro struck the ball. 

It clipped the black 8 ball despite Goro’s attempt, altering its trajectory. It rolled to a sluggish halt nestled close to a pocket. Goro cursed. 

“When failure is inevitable, you need to manage your expectations,” Goro said as he straightened up, catching Kurusu’s intense yet unreadable stare, “If overall victory is deemed unrealistic, you change your goals to inconvenience your enemy, or to conduct scorched earth tactics, or…”

“Ah,” Kurusu’s smile gained a razor sharp edge, “That’s so spiteful. If you’re going down, you’ll take your enemy down with you? Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Goro echoed. 

A taut silence lapsed between them, Kurusu’s unblinking stare keeping him fixed in place. Goro had no idea what was going on behind those grey eyes of his.

“Ahaha,” Kurusu broke the tension with that pretty, manufactured laugh of his, and he took up his billiards cue, “You’d be a dangerous enemy to have, Akechi.”

The Detective Prince prowled along the edges of the billiards table, calculating the best angle. Goro watched as he found his position, and leaned down, resting the billiard cue carefully against his hand, lining up his shot. 

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Kurusu murmured, “Right?”

His cue struck the ball, and it struck his intended target perfectly. It went into its pocket with unerring accuracy. 

“Right,” Goro said quietly. He was losing the game. 

“Looks like it’s my win,” Kurusu said, straightening up with a smile, “Well, in a few more turns. Do you wish to surrender gracefully, or are you going to _inconvenience_ me?”

“What do you think?” Goro said.

“Of course, silly question,” Kurusu sighed, and stepped aside to let Goro take his pointless shot. 

And Goro took up his cue, aimed, and began managing his expectations.

* * *

“Thank you for a lovely time,” Kurusu purred as they left Penguin Sniper, a contented smile on his face from thoroughly trouncing Goro at billiards - not that he was bitter or anything about it, “I rarely get to indulge in these things.”

_what, crushing your inferior at billiards?_ Goro thought sourly. 

“I’m sorry I have to cut things short, though. I enjoy spending time with you,” Kurusu continued, and Goro squinted suspiciously at him.

“What?” Kurusu mock-pouted at the overt suspicion, “I do!”

“Hm,” Goro put as much doubt as he could into that low grunt. 

“You’re so rude,” Kurusu said fondly, “It’s amusing. In any case, I really do have to go. Remember, you’re paying next time!”

With that, his rival-enemy-friend gave him a jaunty wave of farewell before pivoting on his heel and vanishing into the early evening crowd of Kichijoji. Goro tucked his hands into his pockets, his gaze lingering after Kurusu, who was long gone, before finally turning away and walking in the opposite direction.


	2. First Palace Visit - Goro + Ryuji (Pt1)

First day of school and of course it rains. 

Goro glared balefully at the sky, huddled underneath the awning of a closed up store to escape the worst of the downpour. His hair was sticking to his cheeks and forehead, vision blurred from the droplets clinging to the thick, yet fake, lens of his glasses. He was tempted to rip the stupid things off and crush them underfoot but

_(“These will make you seem a little, ah, softer- younger? Yes, better to let the judge take pity on you so you get a reduced sentence-”)_

A throb of pain lanced through his temples, and through sheer force of will Goro unclenched his jaw, the bubble of molten rage sitting heavily in his gut keeping him warm despite the wet chill. If he knew beforehand he would’ve been fed through such a farce of an arrest, he would’ve punched his useless shit of a father harder. 

_at least i broke his nose,_ he thought vindictively, _not so pretty for the cameras now, huh~?_

That put a smile on his face, small and vicious as it was, and he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time. He was cutting it a bit fine, but the downpour hadn’t let up at all. Ugh, he didn’t want to get soaked through on his first day of school, especially when it was apparent that the adults there were just as rotten as they always were. They looked at him like he was a rabid animal...

A glint of gold in the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he glanced over to see someone had joined him under the awning. A Western looking girl, with blond hair tied up in pigtails, and bright blue eyes. She looked just as disgruntled as he felt. 

Goro shifted a few inches away from her, hunching his shoulders and keeping his gaze fixed on his phone. Luckily the girl - a fellow student of Shujin judging by her uniform - kept to herself, and Goro forgot about her until a car pulled up in front of them. 

“Hey there!” A strange man leaned over the passenger seat as he called out to them both, though Goro noticed his gaze was fixated on the girl, “You want me to give you a ride to school? You’re gonna be late.”

 _yeah, we’re totally gonna jump into a stranger’s car,_ Goro thought scathingly, giving the man a dull glare. 

“Um, sure, thank you,” the girl said, already walking forwards. 

_...wow._

“Do you need a lift too?” the stranger asked him as the girl climbed into the passenger seat. His gaze didn’t waver once from her.

Goro filed away the man’s features - broad-faced, square jaw, a block of a chin and dark curly hair - and mutely shook his head as he turned his phone camera on. The strange man didn’t seem put out by his refusal, didn’t even acknowledge it really, proving it had been only politeness prompting the invitation, and looked away. 

In the split second before the car window rolled up, Goro caught the resigned look on the girl’s face. 

Ah. It was that sort of situation, was it?

The car drove away, and Goro quickly snapped a photo of the license plate before it pulled away out of view. The image was a little blurry, but it was readable - enough so that if the girl turned up dead in the woods a few days later, it’d serve its purpose. 

“Haven’t been here for more than a day and I’ve already found another pervert,” Goro muttered to himself, saving the picture, “Tokyo’s full of ‘em.” 

“ _Dammit!”_

Goro jumped when someone skidded to a boisterous stop in front of him, splashing rain water over his shoes and almost making him drop his fucking phone in a puddle. Goro scrambled to catch it, clutching the thing close to his chest as he levelled a glare at the asshole.

“Screw that pervy teacher!” the blond - yet another Shujin student - yelled, oblivious to the death stare Goro was burning into the back of his head.

Wait…

“Pervy _teacher_?” Goro muttered.

The blond snapped around to glare at him, taking two aggressive steps forwards with a swaggering, slouched posture that Goro recognised instantly.

_delinquent._

“What do _you_ want?” the blond delinquent growled at him, “You plannin’ on rattin’ me out to Kamoshida?”

“Considering I don’t know who the fuck Kamoshida is, probably not,” Goro snapped back, not cowed in the slightest by the posturing. In fact, he met the aggression with a bit of his own, straightening up from his huddle and finding that he had an inch on the blond. Just enough to glare _down_ at him coldly.

All delinquents were cowards, at the end of the day, and Goro was not putting up with their shit on his first day of school. He’ll stuff this guy into the nearest trash can if he thought he could start shit with _him_ -

“Huh?” the delinquent blinked, looking bizarrely confused at Goro’s hostility, “Wha- no need to be so intense, man! Kamoshida was that asshole in the car just now.”

The blond paused expectantly.

“Okay?” Goro replied, “So what?”

“Tch,” the delinquent kicked at the ground, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, “It’s just, he does whatever the hell he wants, like- like some king of a castle. It pisses me off.”

Was Goro speaking a different language here or something? He blinked very slowly at the blond, letting the lengthening silence between them speak for him before he enunciated, very carefully; “King of _what_ castle?”

“Wha? No, I mean…” Realisation finally dawned on the oblivious fool, “Wait, you don’t know Kamoshida? Are you for real? You’re from Shujin, right?”

“I’m a transfer student. Today’s my first day,” Goro said flatly, “Obviously.”

“Oh,” the blond looked sheepish, “Uh, sorry, man.” 

Goro grunted, but accepted the apology. He shouldn’t be making enemies so soon, considering his probation. With great difficulty, he swallowed his bloodthirsty pride.

“It’s fine,” he lied, “So. Kamoshida?”

“ _Ugh,”_ the blond kicked the ground again, “Yeah, it’s best you stay outta that asshole’s way. He’s a pervert, and a creep, _and_ a bastard.”

 _and i just let a girl climb into his car,_ Goro thought irritably. Well, nothing much he could do about it now.

“This rain ain’t too bad now,” the blond said, peering out from under the awning. Indeed, the downpour had downgraded itself into a misty drizzle, “We better hurry up, or we’ll be late. C’mon, I’ll show you the way to school.”

 _i can navigate myself,_ Goro mentally hissed, but he just grunted and moved to follow the blond - only to stagger to a halt when a stabbing pain rushed through his skull. His vision fuzzed out, an odd, purplish tint obscuring his sight until… it reverted back to normal as quickly as it came. 

He blinked and shook his head, a lingering dizziness making him a bit unsteady, and saw the blond doing just the same. 

“Ngh, ow…” the blond groaned, “My head hurts… damn it, I wanna go home.” 

_so, we’re just ignoring that then?_ Goro wondered as the blond seemingly brushed off the bizarre incident as Nothing Weird and continued on his way. Apparently, they were indeed ignoring it. 

Perturbed, but not willing to admit it, Goro hurried after his fellow student, phone still clasped tight in his hand, half-forgotten. The drizzling rain felt cool and refreshing on his face after that strange dizzy spell, and he remembered to stow his phone as he followed the blond down a narrow, enclosed alleyway. 

His paranoia abruptly snapped to full attention the second he stepped into the tight space, putting him on edge for reasons he couldn’t explain. The lighting looked wrong, the air smelled strange, and the noise of rain felt echoey in a way that wasn’t natural, like an edge of static. Goro shuddered, wondering if he was having some weird delayed stress reaction to his whole fucked up situation, and crammed his hands deep into his pockets, fingers curled tight around his phone. 

_god, can you stop being crazy for like a day?_ He scolded himself, closing his eyes and giving his head a hard shake. He lagged behind the other student, pinching the bridge of his nose and blowing out slowly to calm himself, when-

“ _Wha-!?”_

Goro jerked upright, quickly jogging the last few steps to round the corner at the blond’s panicked yelp. He was already prepped and ready to take a swing at whatever needed a solid punch - but he faltered to a confused stop when he saw no enemy to fight, but instead a tall, looming, _very out of place_ **_castle_** sitting where his mental map said Shujin Academy should be. 

_...it didn’t look like that on Moogle Maps,_ Goro thought inanely. 

The blond looked just as perplexed as him. 

“We didn’t… come the wrong way, though,” the blond muttered, even turning to stare at the alleyway like he half-expected an explanation to spring up on a sign there, “Yeah, it should be right?”

“It clearly isn’t,” Goro said. 

“Let’s just go inside and ask,” the blond said, far too carefree about the situation, and walked forwards. Goro was half-tempted to let him go by himself and just ditch the first day of school on the grounds that he was clearly hallucinating from some stress-related mental breakdown. 

_aaaand get tossed into jail after only a day on probation,_ Goro mentally finished, letting out a disgusted noise as he tramped after the other boy, _i really should’ve punched shido harder._

The interior of the school-castle monstrosity was gaudy and opulent. Goro kept himself tightly coiled up, hands buried deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched well in, scanning their surroundings. It looked like something out of a period drama film set - a really cheap, _ugly_ film set. 

Goro’s gaze caught on a large painting, monstrously huge, sitting square and centre at the back of the room. It loomed over a set of stairs leading to the first floor, depicting a man dramatically posing in lordly looking armour. A man who looked familiar. _Very_ familiar. As in ‘I saw this person not even _five minutes ago’_ levels of familiar. 

It was, without a doubt, the pervy teacher in the car: Kamoshida himself. 

_I have,_ Goro thought, _a bad feeling._

“That’s weird…” Ryuji mumbled beside him, staring up at the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead, “W-Where’s the school?”

“Wrong turn?” Goro suggested half-heartedly, fishing his phone out for the trusty Moogle Maps app, “Maybe a shared hallucination?”

“I ain’t hallucinatin’!” the blond protested, turning back to him as Goro unlocked his phone, “This has to be it! I mean… it should be…”

Goro barely listened. His phone declared that he was out of service, and that his geolocation couldn’t determine his exact location.

 _I have,_ Goro thought with considerably more anxiety, _a_ **_very_ ** _bad feeling._

“It’s definitely a hallucination,” Goro said, more to himself than the blond. 

“We’re not hallucinatin’,” the blond repeated, fishing his own phone out and checking it, “Huh? What? Out of service? Where’d we end up?”

“Hallucination,” Goro said again. 

The blond ignored him, “The sign was for the school, right?”

“Yes,” Goro put his phone away, “Which lends weight to my theory of us having a shared hal-”

“Dude, if you say ‘hallucination’ one more time-”

The clanking of heavy metal cut off the blond’s no doubt intimidating threat, and the pair of them turned to see… well, a suit of armour with inhuman proportions stomping up to them, large shield and a sword taller than Goro himself clenched in its hands. He’d only been half-joking about the hallucination thing but holy fuck, maybe they really were high as shit right now. Maybe that alleyway had a gas leak or-

“Geeze,” the blond sighed, looking utterly unconcerned at the looming, clearly _inhuman_ entity before them, “You freaked me out. Who’re you? A student?”

Goro stared at him.

“Blondie,” he said flatly.

“Man, your costume’s impressive,” the blond continued, ignoring him completely as he walked closer to the suit of armour, “Is that armour real?”

 _“Blondie,”_ Goro hissed. 

But his growled warnings were for naught. The blond turned to give him a puzzled look, just as a second suit of armour prowled towards them, eerily identical to the first. Acting on instinct, Goro reached out and grabbed the blond buffoon by the scruff of his neck, hauling him out of fucking _sword range_ (Jesus fucking _Christ)._

 _does he not have any sense of self-preservation?_ Goro thought indignantly as the idiot squawked at his rough manhandling, _i’ve seen enough horror movies to know where this is going!_

“H-Hey!” the blond yelped, “What’re you-!?”

“I think,” Goro growled when the two suits of armour began to advance threateningly, “We’ve outstayed our welcome.”

Finally, the idiot noticed the incoming danger, their silent hosts lifting their swords with violent intent, “Oh, _shit.”_

“Yeah, _shit._ So, let’s get out of here!”

They bolted for the exit, only to be stopped by another pair of armours blocking their way, shields locked together as a wall of steel. Goro barely skidded to a halt in time to avoid being skewered on an extended blade, thrusting an arm out to catch his companion before he ran headfirst into them.

“Ugh, what’s with these guys?!” the blond stammered, trying and failing to sound tough.

The four suits of armours surrounded them, their blank, metal masks staring emptily at them. A chill swept through Goro as he tried to find a way out of the ring of sharp steel, anxiously noting that the swords looked razor sharp and not at all dull. Getting hit by those would cause severe injury, without a doubt. 

One armour lashed out with their shield, catching the blond idiot full force in the back. The blond tumbled forwards with a cry, Goro wincing in sympathetic pain at the solid noise of impact from the blow. They were stuck, and surrounded, and, judging by the hostility emanating from these creatures, probably about to die. 

_fuck that,_ Goro mentally spat, _fuck_ **_this._ **

“Argh, the hell was _that_ for?” the blond groaned, and Goro leaned down, fisted the back of his jacket, and hoisted him back to his feet. 

“Get ready to run,” Goro told him, ignoring the blond’s whining protests, “I’ll get us out of this.”

“Wha- _how!?”_

Goro let him go and cracked his neck, already identifying a weak link to go for, “Just get ready.”

There was a reason, after all, why his sentencing had been so harsh. 

The armours tightened the ring, but one was a little too slow. Goro locked on target, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before putting all his years of street-brawling and delinquent busting to good use. Despite having not a lot of room for it, Goro managed a very short, rapid running start, and leapt into a flying dropkick that smashed, full force, into the suit of armour’s blank face. 

“ _DUDE! WHAT THE EFF!”_ the blond shrieked.

But it worked! The element of surprise had clearly been in Goro’s favour, because the suit of armour reeled with a startled cry, toppling backwards when its own cumbersome weight worked against it. Goro hit the ground roughly in a tangle of limbs, but he didn’t stay down for long, scrambling to his feet as fast as he could and bolting without a backwards glance. Shouts and bellows to _‘CAPTURE THEM’_ followed on his heels, and he only noticed the blond was with him when he almost collided with him after they barrelled through a set of double doors into a large, spacious hallway. 

“I CAN’T!” the blond gasped, as they raced down the hallway, the suits of armours already hot on their tail, “BELIEVE! YOU DID THAT!”

“What, you wanted me to stand around and let ‘em stab us?!” Goro snarled back.

“ _No,_ but-!”

“Then shut up and run!”

But Goro had no idea where the fuck they were. Doors after doors, corridors after corridors, hounded by the relentless suits of armours that had _no right_ to sprint that fast without slowing! Goro liked to think he was pretty fit, but even he was starting to feel the burn in his lungs, a copper taste in his mouth when fatigue began to overwhelm the adrenaline. 

“Why!” the blond wheezed, “Won’t. They. Leave. Us. _Alone!”_

Goro panted out something in response, almost tripping over his feet when they sprinted around a corner. He caught sight of a half-open door during his near-tumble, and it rippled strangely yet enticingly, as if... 

A stroke of desperate genius rushed through him. He grabbed the blond’s arm, almost wrenching his arm out of its socket in the process, and ignoring his companion’s yelling, threw themselves into it, slamming the door shut behind him. 

The pair of them pressed up against the door, gasping and wheezing, hearing the heavy stomp of metal boots slow to a halt right in front of it. 

“Where the hell are they!?” one of the suits growled, their voice oddly warped and distorted, like it was being spoken down a pipe, “How could we lose the intruders like this?!”

“King Kamoshida won’t like this…”

“Enough griping! They must’ve gone down this way! After them!”

The footsteps moved away from them, leaving blissful silence. 

The blond immediately crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, gulping in huge gasps of air as he rubbed at his trembling leg. Goro was no better, slumping in open relief against the door, knocking his head back against it. 

“ _Dude,”_ the blond wheezed, “What the _eff_ is going on?!”

“No idea,” Goro rasped.

The blond continued to grumble, working out his frayed nerves. Goro straightened up from his slouch, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was amazed they stayed on, considering his reckless dropkick earlier. 

“We’re lucky you saw this room though, huh?” the blond continued after a long silence passed between them, filled only with their steadying breathing, “Wonder why they didn’t check it.”

Goro studied the room. It looked like a small side room seen in a period drama, a small table for tea with large, squashy chairs arranged around it, the wall softly lit by candelabras embedded in the walls. Yet, if he squinted and tilted his head, the scene ripplied and ebbed, and he swore he saw a glimpse of a classroom just buried under everything. Which didn’t make sense. 

A light thump to his knee brought him out of his staring, and he looked down to see the blond staring up at him wearily, “C’mon, take a pew. We should rest in case we need to sprint off again.”

Goro obligingly slid down until they were both sitting shoulder to shoulder. He could feel his uniform’s turtleneck stick to his back from sweat. 

“...name’s Sakamoto Ryuji,” the blond said abruptly, “Sorta realised during our whole, uh, runnin’ from death thing that we didn’t tell each other our names.”

“I’ve just been calling you Blondie in my head,” Goro admitted.

“Dude,” the blond, Sakamoto, groaned. 

Goro couldn’t help it. It might be the entire bizarre situation, or the lingering adrenaline, but he snorted out an ugly little laugh at Sakamoto’s comically exhausted face. It made him feel a lot more charitable to his fellow student. 

“I’m Akechi Goro,” he finally returned, “I'm something of a delinquent.”

“Yeah, I would’ve guessed with how you flattened that guy,” Sakamoto drawled sarcastically, though he leaned towards him with a grin, “Dude, that was _so cool_ , though! You were just all, _hyah!_ And _bam!_ He was flat on his ass!”

Okay, Goro couldn’t help but feel a little smug at such honest praise. He preened a little, running a hand through his sweaty hair and giving a smirk, “I’ve had practice.” 

“Y’know, I heard rumours that we were gonna get some badass delinquent transferring in this year,” Sakamoto continued, leaning back against the door, “Guess that’s you then?”

So even the student body knew about it? Annoying, but not surprising. Goro supposed it would serve well in making sure people left him alone, so he couldn’t complain too much, “Most likely. I’m on probation.”

“Duuuude…” Sakamoto whistled, “What’d you _do?”_

Goro rolled his shoulder, his hand twinging from the memory of slamming his fist full force into his bastard father’s face. It was both his fondest and most terrifying memory, the first time he stood up to his father so physically, after taking his shit for so long. A shame the whole situation had ended up as a traumatising nightmare.

“Nothing impressive,” he deflected, “Pissed off the wrong person. Anyway, we should try to get out of here. We’re running pretty late for school.”

“You’re thinkin’ about school when we’re getting chased by armoured psychos?” Sakamoto shook his head, “Your priorities are whack, man.”

Goro didn’t reply. He climbed to his feet, and after none-too-gently nudging Sakamoto, got him to move away from the door enough for him to crack it open. He peered out, easing the door open once he was sure the coast was clear. 

“C’mon, before they come back,” Goro whispered, and the pair of them skulked out into the hallway like a pair of thieves. Unlike the opulence of the hall where they were initially ambushed, this hallway was grim, dark stone, cold in a way that only wet chill could bring. Their footsteps echoed strangely, and when Goro glanced down, he saw the ground ripple beneath his feet, flecks of psychedelic colours splashing about his shoes like water. He didn’t know what it meant, though his brain did start churning over it knew about water symbolising illusions. 

_i don’t believe in the paranormal or whatever,_ Goro thought to himself, _but i can’t think of another explanation for this shit._

“I think we’re going in circles,” Sakamoto whispered after a while. 

“Shut up, no we’re not,” Goro refuted, though he wasn’t sure. 

“We are! I saw that ugly Kamoshida painting before.”

“There’re hundreds of those ugly Kamoshida painting- wait,” Goro stopped, and the pair of them turned and stared at the offending painting in question. It looked out of place amongst the stone hallway, and they drew closer to it out of curiosity. It was Kamoshida standing triumphantly over a slain dragon, sword raised high with a backdrop of roses glittering behind him. It was abhorrent. 

“Kamoshida painting,” Goro repeated, “Why _is_ there a painting of that guy in here?”

“There was a big one too in the hall,” Sakamoto confirmed, “Why the hell are there so many in a castle full of psychos?”

( _“King Kamoshida isn’t going to like this…”)_

“King Kamoshida…” Goro repeated, and explained when Sakamoto gave him a weird look, “One of the armours said it when we were in that room, remember? They said King Kamoshida wasn’t going to like that we escaped.”

“Ugh, what the eff…?” Sakamoto whined, scratching vigorously at his head, “I don’t get it. What’s goin’ on!?”

Goro crossed his arms, staring at the painting as he thought. This castle was where the school was meant to be, ruled over by an entity sharing the same name as a teacher from Shujin...

_(“Tch. It’s just, he does whatever the hell he wants, like- like some king of a castle. It pisses me off.”_

_“King of what castle?”_

_“Wha? No, I mean… wait, you don’t know Kamoshida? Are you for real? You’re from Shujin, right?”)_

It was too bizarre to be a coincidence. 

“I think… this is Shujin,” Goro said slowly, knowing that he was going to sound absolutely batshit insane, but logic had obviously flung itself out of the window long before they set foot in this castle of horrors, “This place. Do you remember when we met? You mentioned Kamoshida being ‘a king of a castle’ - a castle called Shujin.”

“Y-Yeah, but, I mean, I didn’t mean this!” Sakamoto squawked, flailing his arms to encompass everything. 

“Something strange happened after you said that,” Goro continued like Sakamoto hadn’t spoken, “Do you remember? A sudden pain and a dizzy spell, and the world feeling like it went briefly distorted?”

“Huh? Well, I guess something like that happened,” Sakamoto frowned, though he still looked confused, “But, what does that mean?”

Goro didn’t know. Clearly something supernatural _had_ happened during their short exchange about Kamoshida, but he didn’t know how or why. If he was going to accept that this whole situation was a supernatural event, then he would have to consider supernatural reasons for it - such as them being spirited away and forced to live through a parody of their world, or being cursed in some way. 

Though, he was still partial to his whole ‘this is a _very intense_ shared hallucination’ idea, if only because personal insanity was less terrifying than ‘i have been kidnapped by fucking **_ghosts_ ** **’.**

“We’ll figure it out later,” Goro said, shoving the whole thing on the backburner. “What I can say is that technically, we’re at Shujin Academy. We’re just in an alternative version of Shujin that is a castle where Kamoshida is king.”

 _ugh,_ Goro mentally finished, _i feel like i’m in a david lynch film._

Sakamoto looked ill at this revelation.

“So- so how do we get back to _normal_ Shujin?” Sakamoto asked, a reasonable question Goro had no good answer for. 

“First, we get out of here,” Goro said, projecting a confidence he really did not feel, “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Which was, in short, easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a two parter, because it was getting to be a VERY chunky update. I did want to do more akeshuake, but i also wanted to show like, the main diff between goro and akira in the role of protag, and the best way to do that was to show how they managed their first palace visit with ryuji (also GORO+RYUJI FRIENDSHIP!!), and also give a few hints on the story behind goro's arrest. as you can see, things went a little differently :3 next part is goro's awakening and meeting morgana...
> 
> tl;dr after this two parter, prepare urself for the promised akeshuake roleswap nonsense hue hue heu ehue i have. Plans.
> 
> (ps: the david lynch joke was lifted from antfish's JJBA Abridged series, if only bc i could see goro making the same complaint about how crazy his life has now become thanks to metaverse nonsense)


	3. First Palace Visit - Goro+Ryuji+Morgana (Pt2)

Their quest to escape Shujin Castle ended up with them in the dungeons. 

Their lost wanderings ended up with them almost running headlong into a patrol of guards. They only narrowly avoided detection by Sakamoto dragging them both through a thankfully unlocked door and into a dark set of stairs that led downwards. As the patrol loitered outside of the doorway, sounding like they weren’t going to move anytime soon, they both cautiously followed the spiralling stairs downwards into a cavernous dungeon with cells filled with other students. 

Sakamoto flipped out, understandably, but Goro was perplexed. Surely it would’ve turned up in the news if so many students vanished from the school? But without the means to open their cells, and the students being so resistant to the idea of fleeing lest they drew King Kamoshida’s wrath, Goro managed to coax an incensed Sakamoto to leave them and focus on their own escape. 

“We need to save ourselves first,” Goro told him firmly, which Sakamoto muttered under his breath about. 

The dungeons also appeared to be part of the castle’s sewer system, which Goro declared to be a good thing. The sewage had to leave somehow, so if they followed the flow, they should, theoretically, find a way out through there. 

“But, _poo’s_ in there!” Sakamoto whined as they cautiously followed the sewage’s flow. The water was dark and frothing, a thin layer of scum that gave it a toxic, poisonous look. It didn’t smell too pleasant either, but Goro wasn’t fussed when personal survival was on the line. 

“What’s worse, Sakamoto?” Goro asked pleasantly, “Being chopped into bits by a sword-wielding maniac, or swimming through shit for a few minutes?”

Sakamoto’s expression said it was a difficult choice.

“Stop being a baby about it,” Goro sighed, crossing over a bridge when their way forwards was stymied by a locked gate, “It’s just shi-”

“Hey!”

_“UWARGH!”_ Sakamoto yelped, and Goro yelped too when he suddenly had an armful of Sakamoto scaling up his body, clinging to him as his head wildly whipped around, “What was that?!”

“Get _off_ me!” Goro snarled, shoving Sakamoto away and straightening his glasses that were knocked askew, “Idiot!”

“ _Hey! Heeeeey!”_ The unknown voice called again, and after some bewildered peering around and shuffling, they found the source in one of the nearby cells - after looking downwards. 

“Finally! Are you guys _deaf_ or something?” the voice’s owner snapped up at them, “I’ve been yelling for ages!”

Goro and Sakamoto stared at the… person before them. Large, blue eyes peered up at them from an oversized head, fluffy ears twitching and tiny paws wrapped around the thick bars of its cell. It was a cat, a bipedal cartoonish looking cat, speaking like a human. Goro’s brain neatly took this piece of new information and stared at it for a bit, unsure if this was evidence for the hallucination thing or ‘stolen by spirits’ thing. 

“What’s with this monster cat?” Sakamoto scoffed, like he hadn’t been shrieking at the top of his lungs from said monster cat not even two minutes ago. 

“I’m not a cat! I’m a human!” the monster cat protested. 

Goro and Sakamoto exchanged looks. 

“Don’t give each other that look! I can see you!” Monster huffed, “The name’s Morgana. Mor-gan-a! I was thrown in here by that Kamoshida jerk and forgotten about. You gotta let me out!”

“Why would Kamoshida lock up a cat?” Goro asked. 

“I’m not a cat!”

“You kinda look like one,” Sakamoto said, “Ears, tail, fur, paws… mhm, if it looks like a cat…”

The cat, Morgana, bristled, all his fur fluffing out and his eyes narrowing into slits, “ _Listen,_ ” he stressed out, “If you let me out, I'll help you guys. I saw you across the way, you’re just wandering around without a clue, right?”

Goro crossed his arms, meeting Morgana’s narrowed stare with one of his own; “We’re listening.”

“I’ve got this place mapped out pretty well _and_ I'm pretty strong, meaning I can fight those guys,” Morgana said proudly, “So, I'll guide you out of the Palace and protect you. Does that sound like a deal to you?”

“So, we let you out, and you show us the exit,” Goro summarised, “How do we know you won’t just run off once we free you?”

“Yeah,” Sakamoto crossed his arms and joined Goro in his open suspicion, “Or attack us! Everything else in this place keeps tryin’ to kill us.” 

Morgana looked like he wasn’t sure how to confront these accusations, “I-I wouldn’t hurt you! I’m a good guy!”

“Then why you locked up, huh?” Sakamoto challenged. 

“Because I was trying to steal some treasure!” Morgana hissed, “I’m not a- a _criminal_ \- well, not a bad one, I mean- ugh! Just let me out! I promise I’ll help you guys out, so pleeeeease!”

Goro and Sakamoto looked at each other. 

“...well, if it comes to it, I can probably punt him into the water if he tries anything,” Goro said bluntly. 

Sakamoto snorted.

“I can hear you, y’know!” Morgana said peevishly. 

“So, how do we let you out?” Goro asked, “We don’t have the key.”

“The key’s over there!” Morgana said, pointing through the bars towards what looked like an ancient, wooden key press only a few feet away. The small door was ajar, showing only one singular brass key hanging from a hook. Goro blinked. 

“Why does this cell have a key nearby and the others didn’t?” Sakamoto wondered, which was a very good question. 

“I’m not going to think about it,” Goro sighed. This place was giving him a headache. 

He retrieved the key and promptly let the monster cat out. Morgana practically leapt out of his cell, stretching his stubby limbs and letting out a happy little sigh. 

“Ah, freedom!” Morgana chirped, before turning to them with a serious look, “Okay, I always keep my word. We’ll have to get out of the dungeons if we want to escape, the sewer is no good.”

“Oh thank god,” Sakamoto muttered under his breath, “No poo water.”

Goro glared at him. 

“Come on!” Morgana urged, and the little cat shot off at impressive speed, considering how tiny his legs were. Sakamoto and Goro had to jog to keep up, finding themselves going the way they came. Not that Goro really recalled the path they took, as the dungeons were so cavernous and winding, it was easy to get lost after a few turns. 

Their great escape went well - up until they ran headfirst into a small patrol of guards at a T-junction. There was a comical moment where both parties simply stood and stared at each other in shock, Goro finding himself frozen in mid-step like he had some vain hope these creatures could only sense movement and didn’t have actual eyesight. 

“THE INTRUDERS!” The lead guard bellowed, “THEY’RE DOING A PRISON BRE- _ARGH!”_

A sudden, powerful gust of wind abruptly exploded in the middle of the small group of guards. Two of them went toppling into the scummy water of the sewer, the other smashed into the stone wall with such force the wall cracked. Goro and Sakamoto gaped, but Morgana was already yelling at them. 

“Come on! Hurry up!”

They hurried. 

“Dude, did- did _you_ do that!?” Sakamoto squeaked. 

“Of course!” Morgana sounded smug, “That was _Garu,_ a wind spell! Tch, didn’t you know that?”

“ _No!”_

They only managed to sprint to the end of the hallway when another group of guards - alerted by the shout from earlier - ambushed them at the end. This group was led by a guard clad in crimson armour, and he _radiated_ threat, the dark holes of its expressionless mask burning with an unholy light. 

“Oh no!” Morgana faltered at the sight of him, “The Guard Captain!”

“Get back in your cells, prisoners!” The Guard Captain growled, backed up by a bristling wall of steel, “Now!”

“Uh, Monster Cat, what do we do?” Sakamoto asked nervously. 

“I’m not Monster Cat!” Morgana snapped, his large eyes flickering between the Guard Captain and his small squad, then firming up in determination, “I’m _Morgana_ and I always keep my word… you guys run, I’ll catch up!”

“Are you insane!?” Sakamoto hissed, “They’ll turn you into cat kibble!”

“Sakamoto,” Goro said, “Let’s not waste time.” 

Morgana harrumphed, and flickers of blue flame started to circle him, “You guys underestimate me. I can handle chumps like this. Now go!”

“Damn it…” Sakamoto muttered, but he turned with Goro and followed him as they ran away, the sound of Morgana yelling _‘ZORO!’_ following on their heels. 

“This is stupid!” Sakamoto ranted past his heavy breathing, the pair of them lost within seconds without Morgana guiding them. Rows and rows of empty cells mocked them, stone busts of Kamoshida mounted at each junction laughing at them, “This is so stupid! I just wanted to go to school, damn it!”

Goro grunted and slowed to a walk, “Hold on.” 

Sakamoto stopped too, quickly turning to him, “You okay, man?”

“We can’t keep running around in circles,” Goro said, “Morgana was leading us that way, which we’re going opposite of now.” 

“But there’re like, a billion guards over there,” Sakamoto muttered, kicking at the ground, “And we can’t fight ‘em. I mean, uh, your dropkick was cool and all, but…”

It only worked because Goro had surprised them. 

A sombre silence fell over them. 

Goro was tired - not just mentally, but physically too. His legs hurt from running, he was sweaty and sore, he was fairly certain he had bruised his back when landing from that dropkick, and they were lost. Lost and _helpless._ Goro _despised_ feeling helpless, hated it, hated it more than he hated Shido, and he felt his hands curl into fists, casting his glare down at the dark, frothing water running along the dungeon path.

God, it pissed him off _so much_ -

**_oh?_ **

A bolt of agony shot right through his skull, and Goro winced, clutching a hand against his temple. Something chuckled, rasping and whisper-soft in his ear, but when he turned there was no one there. 

“Dude, you okay?” Sakamoto drew his attention back, one hand lifted as if ready to steady him, “You look super pale.”

“Y-Yeah…” Goro said unsteadily, the pain ebbing into a dull ache just behind his eyes. The strange presence was gone, “It’s nothing.” 

He hoped. 

“Guess the stress is gettin’ to ya,” Sakamoto said, offering up a grin that was only a little wobbly around the corners.

Goro huffed, “Maybe.” 

He gave one last glance around him, just in case, but they were alone in the small piece of dungeon they were in. He couldn’t shake the unease about that bizarre moment, though. He took his glasses off and tucked them into his pocket. They might’ve been giving him eyestrain. 

“Let’s go,” Goro said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

They moved cautiously onwards, eventually ending up at Morgana’s open cell, recognisable only because it was the only one with the wooden key press next to it. 

“We’re back here again?” Sakamoto whined, “Really?”

Goro massaged his forehead, his spike of irritating coinciding with the spike of pain lancing through his temples, “Looks like it.” 

“I feel like we’ve been stuck down here for a week,” Sakamoto groaned, slumping forwards comically - only to straighten up rapidly, “Wait, how long _have_ we been in here?”

Long enough to be punished for truancy, Goro did not say, “Does that really matter right now?”

“I guess not,” Sakamoto crossed his arms and stared pensively into the open cell, “All that matters is getting out, no matter how long it takes.”

“You think you can _escape?”_

Goro stiffened at the unnatural voice, and he slowly turned around to see:

“K-Kamoshida?” Sakamoto gasped, sounding both horrified and bewildered, “What the eff…?”

Indeed, Kamoshida stood before them in all his half-naked glory. Flanked by two guards - which puzzled Goro since how the _hell_ did they sneak up on them?! - Kamoshida was posed in front of them like a supervillain from Featherman, his hands resting on his hips, his hairy chest puffed out on display - against his will, Goro’s eyes were drawn to the abhorrent pink speedo.

“What,” was all he could muster. 

“Ah, Sakamoto,” Kamoshida (?) sighed mockingly, “I should’ve known it was _you_ invading my castle, stirring up trouble! And with the new delinquent transfer student too! Such infractions deserve punishment!”

“Shut up!” Sakamoto burst, anger clouding his face like an approaching thunderstorm, his teeth bared, “The only person who deserves punishment is _you!_ We’ve seen those students you keep locked up in here!”

“They deserve that!” Kamoshida snapped, his yellow eyes aglow with malicious satisfaction, “For not meeting my expectations! For talking back to me! For doubting me! Me! I’m King Kamoshida! I can never be doubted!”

Was this really Kamoshida?

The thought niggled at him, examining the creature. The eyes were unnatural, and so was the voice, Kamoshida’s, but warping around the edges like it was being spoken down a pipe, or an unstable voice call. If Goro hypothesised this castle as being an alternative Shujin, then that would mean this was an alternative Kamoshida ruling over it, not the one in real life. 

Not that such a revelation helped them out currently, except that Goro could probably get away with punching this Kamoshida and not be expelled for assaulting a teacher. 

“You ain’t a _King,”_ Sakamoto sneered, “You’re some washed up _jerk_ who can’t let go of his old glory days!”

The second those words were out of Sakamoto’s mouth, it was clear he had struck a very raw, painful nerve. 

King Kamoshida straightened up to his full height, rage distorting his features comically, “How _dare_ you speak to me like that!” the creature snarled, “For such disrespect, I sentence you to _execution!”_

“ _What?!”_ Sakamoto squawked, as the two guards stepped past King Kamoshida and advanced on them. 

They had nowhere to go, Goro and Sakamoto backed into the open cell they had released Morgana from. One guard reached for Goro, and he lashed out with a snarl, slamming his foot into side of the creature’s knee - but they didn’t so much as _budge._ Instead he was unceremoniously shoved against the wall, pinned there by a powerful, unmovable arm pressing against his chest. 

“I think I’ll let you watch~” King Kamoshida jeered, his yellow eyes staring at Goro as Sakamoto was snagged by the second guard, “You deserve it for daring to assault my guards earlier.”

“Eat shit!” Goro snarled, kicking out again. All he achieved was making a hollow banging noise when his foot futilely kicked against his captor’s leg. His hands grappled uselessly against the arm half-crushing him against the wall, and he was helpless - helpless - 

**useless.**

“L-Let go of me!” Sakamoto shrieked, twisting like an eel as the guard forced him down, one heavy boot on his back. The blond was pinned to the cell floor, and the guard shifted its grip on its sword, lifting it on high - to decapitate. 

“This is what you get for daring to defy me!” King Kamoshida declared, raising his hand like Caesar deciding the fate of a fallen gladiator. 

Goro stopped struggling, realising it was futile, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was cowardly, but he couldn’t- damn it- he was so fucking useless - why was he- always- _always_ too useless to help-!

Agony _erupted._

It smashed through his skull and right into the core of him, choking out a soundless scream as he felt his pathetic little soul convulse and rip into two, twin voices rising in an insistent chorus:

_ARE YOU GIVING UP?_

**he’s useless.**

_ARE YOU FORSAKING HIM TO SAVE YOURSELF?_

**as he is, he’s useless.**

_EXCUSING YOUR INACTION WITH POWERLESSNESS?_

**no strength,**

_DEATH AWAITS HIM IF YOU DO NOTHING._

**no will.**

_WAS YOUR PREVIOUS DEC_

**BUT THAT IS NO EXCUSE**

**SPINELESS FOOL**

_YOU HAVE NO PLACE HERE_

**ENOUGH.**

**YOUR POWER IS UNNEEDED**

**IT IS I**

**MY RAGE**

_MY INDIGNATION_

**MY HATRED**

_MY JUSTICE_

**WEAKLING.**

_VIGILANTE._

**ALWAYS SO,**

**_WEAK!!_ **

_ALWAYS SO,_

**_ANGRY!!_ **

**HOW SICKENING.**

**HEED MINE WORDS**

**I AM THOU,**

_SILENCE_

_HATRED IS NOT OUR SOLE MOTIVATION_

_WE DESIRE TO FIGHT INJUSTICE_

_TO FIND SOMEONE TO ACCEPT US_

_TO BE OUR COMRADE_

_TO PROTECT_

_TO BE WORTHY OF_

**FRIENDS?**

**WORTH!?**

**HAHAHAHA**

**TO HELL WITH THAT!**

**I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT**

_I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT_

**TRULY**

_TRULY_

**DEEPLY**

_DEEPLY_

**PASSIONATELY**

_PASSIONATELY_

**TO SEE SHIDO’S HEAD ON A PIKE**

_TO BRING SHIDO TO JUSTICE_

**SHUT UP**

_SILENCE_

**OBEY ME, YOUR HATRED**

_HEED MY COUNSEL, YOUR JUSTICE_

**I**

**AM**

**THOU**

_THOU_

_ART_

_I_

_IF YOU DESIRE TO DON THE MANTLE OF HEROISM_

**IF YOU DESIRE TO DON THE MANTLE OF VINDICATION**

_CALL MY NAME!_

**_CALL MY NAME!_ **

There was an ugly crunching noise, both internally and externally, Goro’s fingers catching on a mask that felt like it was constructed out of sand. It’s shape? What was its shape? It shifted and slid, lumpy and grainy, catching under his fingernails and carrying the heat of freshly spilled blood. His vision wavered. 

A snapshot in time: 

Sakamoto, cowering beneath the raised blade of an enemy, Goro’s heart lurched and slammed full force against his sternum from _fearworryconcern_ and the scales tipped a little - a flicker of a memory when he was young, proudly proclaiming he will be a hero, and one voice overwhelmed the other for a fraction of a moment, his lips forming; _‘Ro-’_

then

the distorted kamoshida turned to him and

A different face but the ugliness was identical, the sneer, the malice, and suddenly, Goro was not standing in the dark dungeons of a magical castle that shouldn’t exist, surrounded by monsters fresh out of a nightmare. Suddenly, it was not King Kamoshida in his ridiculous cape and crown and pink speedo - the sneer was _identical,_ the disdain, the arrogance, the way those amber eyes looked down at him, always down at him, the demon that cast a long shadow over his life, eyes that said _‘you’re not worth-’_

The rage punched clear through his ribcage and he screamed; **_‘LOKI!’_ **

The mask tore free, pitch black and fanged, a knight’s visor disintegrating into ash as a monster came clawing free out of the fissure inside of him. King Kamoshida’s sneer transformed into outright terror, the monster swinging its scorching blade in the tight confines of the cell and decapitating both his guards with a single strike.

Execution complete. 

**_that’s right that’s right,_ ** the rage crooned at him, as Goro felt a weight in his hand that wasn’t there before - the hilt of a blade, jagged and crimson like the fanged smile the monster leered his way, cajoling, encouraging, **_make him cower, make him hurt, make him crazed with agony…_ **

“W-What the hell are you!?” King Kamoshida whined, scrambling backwards as Goro and the monster advanced on him, equally bloodthirsty grins on their faces, “Stay away from me! Guards! _GUAAAARDS_!”

King Kamoshida bolted, and Goro was overcome with a searing, hungry urge to purse-

**_HUNT HIM DOWN,_ ** the monster snarled, **_DO IT_ **

“H-Holy shit,” Sakamoto’s voice stuttered, smashing through that terrifying fog and slapping Goro’s wits into harsh clarity. The monster growled, “A-Akechi? Is that- still you?”

**_IGNORE HIM,_ ** the monster hissed, **_OUR PREY_ **

But it wasn’t fun anymore. Goro shook his head, and the monster let out a shrill cry before it disintegrated into ash - a solid weight settling over his face. A mask. The sword felt unbearably heavy in his hand.

“...yeah,” Goro stepped away from where he’d unconsciously started after King Kamoshida, turning towards the shell-shocked Sakamoto, “It’s me.” 

Sakamoto was gaping at him, still ashen-faced and as wobbly as a newborn deer as he staggered to his feet. Still, the blond mustered the tattered remains of his courage and approached Goro, despite the fact that he just had a fucking _demon_ come howling out of his soul. 

_great,_ Goro thought without much emotion, _i’m possessed._

“What… what was that?” Sakamoto asked in wonder, standing just out of arm’s reach and inspecting Goro, “What did you do?” 

Goro went to run his free hand through his hair, only to hiss when his hand smacked against what felt like a helmet. There was a sound of scraping metal as his hand - clad in a clawed gauntlet - felt along the helmet, feeling the jut of horns - similar to the horns that the demon had.

“I don’t know,” he answered belatedly, lowering his hand and looking down. He looked like he was some dark knight character that had just stepped out of an RPG. The creak of leather and rustle of metal sounding every time he shifted his weight, and his sword… a long, jagged strip of crimson metal, the air warping slightly from the heat emanating from it. 

_did i make a pact with a demon?_ Goro wondered, recalling that flush of otherworldly power when the demon - Loki - came. It had been addictive and hypnotising, like a great weight had pressed against his mind and urged him towards the darker side of himself; like he could do anything, fight anyone, and never have to cower from a greater power ever again. 

It had felt good, but the lack of control that came with it...

Goro shivered, and as if triggered by his unease, his new outfit dispersed in a flicker of blue flames. Both he and Sakamoto yelped and jumped, but when the fire cleared, Goro was fine and dressed in just his school uniform once more, no dark knight outfit or sword visible.

“Argh!” Sakamoto threw his hands up, “What the eff is _happening_!?” 

“You woke up your Persona!”

Goro spun round at the sound of Morgana’s voice, seeing the little cat trotting around the corner of the dungeon looking a little worse for wear. His fur was dirtied and ruffled, and there was a slight limp to his gait. Those guards he fended off must’ve been almost too much for him. 

“Monster cat!” Sakamoto said in relief, “You’re okay!”

“My _name_ is _Morgana!”_ the monster cat yelled, coming to a sharp stop to bristle at Sakamoto, “How many times do I have to say it?!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sakamoto blew off, but he was grinning, a mix of adrenaline and sheer relief making him look almost maniacal.

“Persona?” Goro asked. 

“Think of it as a manifestation of your true self,” Morgana said, turning towards him after giving Sakamoto one last dirty look, “Empowered by your will of rebellion. Once you gain it, you can summon it in the Metaverse, where it can fight and protect you from Shadows.”

“Do you have one?” Sakamoto said. 

“Of course!” Morgana puffed out his tiny, fluffy chest, “How else would I have fought off those Shadows, huh?”

Goro recalled that strange gust of wind, Garu, that had knocked those Shadows into the water, and frowned thoughtfully. So, that had been Morgana’s Persona. 

“Your true self…” he repeated. What did it mean for him, then? He could still feel it inside, that uneven balance rocking over a great fissure, twin voices murmuring too softly to be understood, “What if there’s tw-”

A distant shout drew them up short, the bellowing of Shadows to hurry after the intruders. Morgana hissed, “Come on! We can finish this outside!”

“Let’s get outta here!” Sakamoto yelped in agreement, and Goro had to set aside his curiosity to focus on their escape instead. 

Still, Persona…

Better than demonic possession, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to know what goro's metaverse outfit looks like, i'm basing it very closely on the gore magala armour from monster hunter: [seen here](https://i.gyazo.com/1c75551e3784e449b3732eed8d1f1347.png)! I decided to go more of a dark knight style with him instead of bdsm pyjamas, and also bc i think this armour is neat ok ok
> 
> his robin hood metaverse outfit is gonna be different, though we'll get into that later huehehuehe
> 
> anyway, i cute the palace visit short there bc it then proceeded like in canon, with the shadows explanation, etc, etc, etc and i didn't feel like rehashing canon since there wouldn't be much deviation. i hope y'all liked how i went with this palace visit, and how i introduced the peculiarity with goro's persona and hint of his backstory~
> 
> next chapter will resume with our akeshuake roleswap needs uwu


	4. (Un)Trustworthy - Akira/Goro (Futaba Arc)

The day was cloyingly hot, the sky a brilliant blue and empty of any clouds offering potential respite from the merciless sun. Goro fanned himself with a glossy leaflet pilfered from the tourist stand during his and Akira’s ambling stroll through the Chuo-dori. This early in the afternoon, the Ginza shopping district was bustling, a thick crowd offering camouflage to the well-known Detective Prince at his side. Goro doubted he’d have the patience to deal with getting stopped by his fans every five minutes, otherwise. 

“My, my, it’s certainly busy, isn’t it?” Akira asked him. He seemed annoying unaffected by the heat despite wearing that stupid turtleneck sweater he insisted on wearing everywhere. Goro gave him the side-eye. 

“What did you expect?” Goro asked in disbelief, “It’s two o’clock on a weekend, of course it’s busy.” 

“Hrm,” Akira just looked amused, “Is there a shop you want to visit first?”

 _and he ignored me,_ Goro thought in exasperation, stifling the urge to smack Akira with his leaflet-turned-fan. 

“Everything here is outside of my budget,” Goro reminded Akira for the umpteenth time, “I’m as poor as Yusuke.”

“I really do worry about your financial skills,” Akira muttered, “What do you spend your money _on?”_

Model guns and weapons. Illegally prescribed, experimental medicine. Velvet Room insanity. Goro was amazed he had enough change to get a train ticket to Ginza, considering the black hole that was financing the Phantom Thieves’ illicit activities. 

“...bread,” Goro said semi-honestly, “I really like Shujin’s bread.”

Akira gave him a look. 

“You know,” the Detective Prince said slowly, “Subsidising entirely off bread and curry will give you diabetes later in life. You should really mind your diet more.”

“I’m poor,” Goro reminded him again, “And there’s nothing wrong with Boss’s curry.”

Akira heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “Let’s delay our shopping trip to give you a nutritionally balanced meal, then.” 

“I don’t need your charity,” Goro grouched, but he obediently followed Akira when he changed direction in a more purposeful manner. Clearly Akira had a specific location in mind to have food. 

Akira led them to Mitsukoshi. One elevator ride later, and they managed to secure a table at Minoru, a popular cafe on the 9th floor. Goro sat with his back to the large window that spanned the wall of the cafe, and across from him Akira was already pursuing the menu with a thoughtful frown. 

“As I’m paying, I’ll order for us both,” Akira said, looking over the menu to give Goro a sly smile, “I’m curious to see if I can guess your tastes.” 

“If it’s food, I’ll eat it,” Goro said, just to be a little shit. 

“That isn’t true,” Akira’s sly smile turned a smug, “You hate spicy food. You were very picky and whiny over that spicy takoyaki you accidentally bought last week…”

“I didn’t _whine,”_ Goro gritted out, his cheeks flushing at that memory. 

It had been humiliating… Goro had been brought to unwilling tears from how abominably spicy that takoyaki had been, while Akira had done nothing but laugh himself sick at his misery. 

“No, you didn’t,” Akira’s smile widened, edging into a grin that showed _teeth,_ “You _cried.”_

Goro kicked him in the shin. 

“ _Ow,_ you little-!” Akira laughed, tucking his feet under his seat and keeping his shin out of reach, “You have such an awful temper!”

“What can I say?” Goro seethed out, “You bring out the worst in me.”

“Apparently so,” Akira didn’t seem bothered about this. He gave Goro an evaluating look, as if memorising the furious expression on his face for safekeeping. 

Unlike most people, Akira never shied away when Goro’s tenuous grasp on his temper slipped. He knew he could be frightening, intense, even downright beastly whenever that red haze settled over him, no matter how hard he tried to keep it crushed down. Akira always met his explosive temper with a coy smile and a pleased glance, like Goro’s slip of control was something marvellous to behold, than to fear. 

Goro didn’t know what to think about it. Maybe Akira was just strange. 

_(no, he was_ definitely _strange)_

“You’re making that face when you’re insulting me in your head,” Akira said idly, his focus back on the menu in his hands. 

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t need to look to know your expression,” Akira’s mouth quirked into a wry, crooked smile.

 _that doesn’t even make sense, weirdo,_ Goro did not say.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Shut up,” Goro muttered, slouching in his seat and fishing out of his phone. As Akira handled the ordering and paying of their meal, he browsed his messages and chat group. The store 777 was asking if he was free tonight, which Goro was _now_ since, as mentioned, he was poor and was desperate for money, but he also had a message to play another shogi match with Hifumi, which he hadn’t done in a while due to this business with Futaba’s Palace and juggling summer jobs and spying on the Detective Prince under the guise of dates. 

_i feel a little duplicitous accepting his invitations like this,_ Goro mused to himself, _but in my defence, he’s spying on me too._

There was something amusing about it all. They both knew each other’s intentions - Goro told him outright he didn’t even trust him - and were now engaged in a high stakes game of bluffing, endlessly circling each other, snatching whatever titbits of information the other let slip, waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for the other to lower their guard first. 

Goro’s gaze drifted back to Akira, contemplative. 

Was he White Mask? 

Even after weeks of close observation and careful infiltration through the high walls Akira placed around his heart, Goro wasn’t sure of the answer. There was enough circumstantial evidence to confidently assess that he was White Mask - the most damning being able to understand Morgana - but Goro still found himself hesitating on committing to the accusation. He kept telling the others that ‘he needed more time’ to pin down his suspicions on Akira, but… 

Maybe Morgana was right. Maybe he was getting dangerously attached. 

Akira caught his gaze, and he smiled as he set down the menu, “What’s with that look? Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Goro said honestly. 

Akira leaned back in his seat theatrically, one hand over his heart, “You wound me with your mistrust, Akechi!”

“It’s not like you trust me either,” Goro pointed out dryly.

“Fair point,” Akira lowered his hands “At the very least, do you trust me in this?”

And what did ‘this’ mean? Such an ambiguous statement. Did he mean the food order? Their little outings? Their rivalry? The genuineness of their tenuous friendship? Akira’s expression gave nothing away, a crooked half-smile on his lips, his eyes heavy-lidded yet intense on him. Goro met that stare head on, unwavering and defiant. 

Did he trust Akira in _anything?_

“I want to,” Goro said, in a rare display of honesty. 

Akira blinked. He looked caught off-guard. 

“You do?” he blurted, then abruptly laughed and sat up, “Of course you do. You’re adorable sometimes, Akechi.” 

“Shut up,” Goro muttered, feeling his ears turn pink. 

“I want to trust you too,” Akira returned, but Goro couldn’t gauge his genuineness. The walls had come up again, his eyes shadowed and his smile utterly false. Goro’s sincerity had rattled him in a way his open distrust hadn’t, “And I’m sure I will, one day.”

Goro said nothing. He felt like he had made a major misstep somewhere. 

“But, we’re here to enjoy ourselves, not discuss heavy topics like our trustworthiness,” Akira closed his eyes in a bright smile, “Are you ready for me to order?”

“So long as you promise not to trick me with a horrible order, yes.”

“I would _never_ trick you,” Akira lied, giving him a showman’s grin as he made an ‘x’ over his heart, “Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

“Stick a needle in your eye,” Goro finished, “I will follow through if you order something spicy.”

“You’re merciless…” Akira sighed, and got up to order at the counter. 

Goro followed his movements, an unsettled feeling churning deep inside of him. He really did want to trust him, strange and weaselly as he was, but… he knew better. Akira was deceitful and an enemy, and to trust him was to give him a chance to bury his knife hilt deep into his spine. No matter how charming Goro found him, no matter how well they clicked and how enjoyable their outings were… 

Akira couldn’t be trusted. Full-stop. 

He just had to remember that.


	5. Art Block - Yusuke+Goro+Morgana

The 777 work uniform was a crime against nature.

Even Goro, who wasn't fashion conscious in the slightest, couldn't help but curl his lip in disdain at the eye-searing pink. But alas, Goro was desperate for money, and so he wore the fashion monstrosity with the same grimness reserved for a gruelling Palace infiltration.

"That uniform is so ugly," Morgana told him, lazily lounging half-out of Goro's bag to watch him bustle about behind the store's counter, "It really clashes with your complexion."

It sounded like Morgana was quoting someone. Goro slanted his cat sidekick with a suspicious look.

"You don't even know what a complexion is," Goro pointed out.

“I do!” Morgana huffed, and stuck his nose into the air smugly as he explained; “Lady Ann said your complexion is the colour of your skin!”

“A very simplified answer,” Goro criticised, leaning his crossed arms on the counter. This late in the evening, there was no one about, so he could get away with such slovenly behaviour, “As expected from a cat.”

“I’m not a cat!”

Goro didn’t bother hiding his grin as Morgana huffed and puffed. He shouldn’t tease Morgana so much, but he made it so easy by having such thin skin. The little kitten sure could dish it out, but when it came to taking it…

“I know,” he said, cutting through Morgana’s sulking, “I’m just teasing.”

“You’re so mean sometimes, Crow,” Morgana grumbled. 

“I never said I was a nice person,” Goro reminded him, and quickly straightened up when he heard the automatic doors slide open. 

Yusuke, of all people, wandered in, looking about a thousand miles away. He was well into his own head, and Goro and Morgana silently watched as Yusuke slowly wandered the aisles with the same bewildered listlessness a resigned time traveller would have when confronted with futuristic items far beyond their comprehension. Yusuke would pick something out - a food item - check its price, then slowly put it back, until finally his journey took him to the till with the cheapest item that could be vaguely called ‘edible’.

“...that uniform's colour is abominable,” Yusuke said after a pause where he and Goro just stared at each other. 

“Thanks,” Goro said, “Are you seriously buying that?”

‘That’ being a pack of cheap gum. Goro didn’t even think it was peppermint flavoured. 

“Alas, this is all I can afford,” Yusuke said morosely, “I spent my monthly stipend on painting supplies - I had hoped replacing those that I had used under Madarame would kindle my passion, as a sort of ‘fresh start’ mentality, but… well. Of course, the brushes I purchased were a little expensive and I forgot to budget for food…”

Goro sighed. 

“...when was the last time you ate,” Goro asked flatly. 

“Hmm? Oh, I had half a sandwich yesterday,” Yusuke nodded thoughtfully, “Granted, the bread was a little stale, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

_ how does he survive, _ Goro thought in exasperation.

“Go grab a proper meal for fuck’s sake,” he sighed, “I’ll buy it for you.”

Yusuke, predictably, perked up, his gloomy mood vanishing like it had never been.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” he said, and quickly wandered over to the store’s fridge section before Goro could even think to rescind his offer. 

“You might not be a nice person,” Morgana said in open amusement, “But you’re definitely a softie at heart.”

“Shut up,” Goro muttered and pressed his hand against the cat’s head, shoving him back into the bag where he belonged.

“Argh! Hey! Watch it!”

Yusuke came back before Morgana could launch his retaliation on Goro’s hand, carrying a cheap microwave meal. Goro didn’t even know if he had a microwave. 

“Do you need me to heat that up?” he asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “There’s one behind the counter.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I will save this for tonight.”

“It’s almost nine in the evening,” Goro said very slowly.

“My focus peaks past midnight,” Yusuke said, handing over his microwave meal. Some chicken-noodle thing. Goro rang it up and illegally applied a discount to it (he’ll take the fall for you, Yusuke), “Until just a little after three. Then I nap so I am somewhat refreshed for school. Although...”

Yusuke sighed heavily, his thin shoulders slumping, “Not even optimising my focus hours has been helping. Oh, woe this art block! It feels insurmountable!”

The cash register’s tray popped out with a trill ping, interrupting Yusuke’s melodrama, and Goro dumped the last of his change into it. As he did so, an idea abruptly bloomed in his mind, and he slowly looked up at Yusuke who was waiting for Goro to stop staring at him like a weirdo and hand him his pity chicken-noodles. 

“Yusuke,” Goro said, “I think I may have a solution to your art problem.”

“Oh?” Yusuke blinked, “You do?”

“You do?” Morgana parrotted. 

“Mm,” Goro put the microwave meal down on the counter, “You’ll need to wait for me to finish my shift in about half an hour, though.”

“Ah, in which case…” Yusuke bowed a little, “I may as well have that meal now.” 

* * *

Forty five minutes later, where Goro switched shifts with the incoming night guy, got paid, and changed out of that awful uniform, it was ticking close to ten o’clock. The last trains were soon, and if this were any other night, Goro would be making a beeline for Leblanc to faceplant into his shitty attic bed. As it was, he made for the back streets with a curious Yusuke in tow and a disapproving Morgana. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the cat asked him, leaning his weight on Goro’s shoulder to better scold him, “It’s getting really late.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Goro said. 

Morgana looked unimpressed, “You always say that - and _always_ _whine_ the next morning about being tired!”

“Exhaustion does tend to be one of your main complaints,” Yusuke interjected, “If I recall, it is what led you to fall foul of the MOAC…”

“We don’t talk about that,” Goro said stonily. 

Morgana sniggered, but Goro ignored him. The MOAC, aka ‘The Mother of all Coffees’, was a crime against nature he found nestled in the back of the 777 store. Obviously he purchased the entire thing when seeing its high caffeine content, assuming that its stimulating effects would transfer into a positive effect in the Metaverse. He was right, of course, but as the willing guinea pig, he had…  _ underestimated _ the potency of a drink where ten shots of espresso was squeezed into a 300ml can. 

He barely recalled what happened, but mentioning the MOAC within Ryuji’s earshot always had the blond laughing himself sick at the memory. 

“There’s still about six cans stashed under your bed,” Morgana pointed out teasingly, “Saving them for emergencies?”

Goro sharply yanked his bag strap and pulled, almost launching Morgana over his shoulder. The cat yelped and scrambled back into the safety of the bag. Goro huffed out a laugh.

They reached their destination not long after that. It was a dark, narrow strip of alleyway, something Goro discovered during his bored meanderings through Shibuya’s streets not long after kicking Kaneshiro off his crime lord throne. He got into a few scuffles here and there, of course, but it kept him sharp and lethal. 

“This doesn’t seem like a safe place to be…” Yusuke murmured. 

“Crow can take on anyone,” Morgana boasted smugly, “Right?”

“Mm,” Goro didn’t bother to correct him. He selfishly liked Morgana thinking him as some unbeatable war god, “We’re almost there.”

They walked the length of the alleyway, until it opened up into a small side-street. It was empty, the thugs of two days ago having long since departed after Goro, ah, enthusiastically staked his claim here. The street wasn’t anything special - the rear end of a warehouse and another nondescript building, poorly lit and in dire need of a sweep up. That wasn’t the important thing, though. 

“There,” Goro pointed at the warehouse wall. Ordinarily it would’ve been a pale-grey, nothing special. Instead it was an explosion of colours, someone taking the time to paint a bombastic stylisation of a fiery serpent battling with a black-feathered bird against a backdrop of silver stars. Goro wasn’t sure what it was referencing. 

“This is… a painting?” Yusuke, predictably, drew closer to the wall, uncaring of the trash littering the ground. He squinted at it through the gloom, critically examining it with an experienced artist’s eye. Goro patiently waited, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other gripping his bag strap. Somewhere he could hear the low hum of an electrical light. 

“It’s some sort of paint. Cheap,” Yusuke decided, not sounding judgemental as he turned back to Goro, “It’s amateurish but I can sense the passion of it. A simplistic enjoyment, but that is enough sometimes - do you know what this is referencing?”

“No idea,” Goro admitted, “But it looks cool, doesn’t it?”

“‘Cool’...” Yusuke mulled over it, “Why did you show me this?”

“I understand your feelings about Madarame,” Goro said, keeping his gaze fixed on the graffiti art instead of Yusuke’s face, “How his association to something has poisoned it for you.” 

Yusuke said nothing. The dark light of the street shadowed his expression. 

Goro shifted his weight, battling with the discomforting feeling that came with exposing a part of himself. He had been slowly learning, throughout Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, and now Futaba, how to crack open the walls he had used to shut others out for so long. There was a cold comfort in isolation, most of your emotional pain was self-inflicted and voluntary, but it was an empty, listless way of living. To let others in brought warmth, but the pain was always unpredictable and cutting. 

Long-learned habits were hard to break. Goro took a long moment to continue, and Yusuke and Morgana both waited, long used to his lengthy silences. 

“I doubt Madarame ever did anything like this, or claimed to, anyway,” Goro continued, gesturing at the wall, “The medium is different too - spray cans. It’s still art, but it’s something Madarame hasn’t touched yet. It’s an entirely different discipline.” 

Yusuke, thankfully, caught the meaning behind his ramblings, “So, you suggest I try this, in an attempt to circumvent my art block?”

Goro shrugged, looking down at his feet and kicking a loose stone, “Something like that.” 

“Isn’t this illegal?” Morgana asked, peering at the artwork curiously, “It counts as vandalism, right?”

Goro rolled his eyes, “It’s only illegal if you get  _ caught.” _

“And we’re the Phantom Thieves!” Morgana finished smugly, “As if we’d get caught painting some plain ol’ walls!”

“Is this how you express yourself?” Yusuke asked, gesturing to the wall, “I noticed you have some artistic skill yourself, in the sketches you make in your notebook’s margins.”

Goro fought down a flush at that observation. He tended to make notes on their Palace infiltrations, along with a ‘compendium’ of sorts of Shadows they had encountered. They were rough, easy sketches, mostly for his own referencing, but the others had sighted them a few times whenever he cracked the notebook open in Safe Rooms. 

“Self-taught,” he said shortly, “But yes. I do this from time to time - or did, before my probation. I haven’t had the time or money to recently but…” 

He could set some funds aside. He was good at penny-pinching, and getting as much bang for his buck as he could get. Maybe he could go into Mementos tomorrow and do a shakedown of the weaklings in there like some supernatural debt collector. With it being the summer, he had more time for such things. 

“I might pick it up again, if you’re up for it,” he finished. 

Yusuke stared at the graffiti art for a long time, before slowly nodding, “I think I am.”

Goro felt a tension he hadn’t known he’d been carrying melt out of him. He supposed he’d been worried Yusuke, with his far more conventional and academically taught art skills, would have been disdainful of this. It was good to know his hunch was right. 

“Come on. Let’s get back to the station before the trains stop,” Goro said, and walked away. 

Yusuke fell in step with him, and they slipped back into the darkness, leaving the brightly coloured battle scene behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im just weak for imagining how goro's friendship with the phantom thieves would be as an mc i AM WEAK im sorry


	6. Circular - Akira/Goro (Futaba's Arc)

“I haven’t been to a bathhouse for a while.”

Goro didn’t open his eyes, too dozy to cater to whatever sad backstory Kurusu wanted to manipulate him with this time, “Is that so.”

“You don’t believe me?” Water audibly sloshed as Kurusu moved - closer. Goro felt the ripple of movement, the soft sigh as Kurusu settled beside him - not quite touching, but close enough that it chased away any and all doziness Goro had. He abruptly felt electrified. 

_fucking typical,_ Goro thought grumpily. 

“Of course not,” Goro cracked an eye open to glare at Kurusu. The bastard was smiling at him, playfully trailing his fingers along the water’s surface, “I don’t trust a damn word out of your mouth.”

“You know,” Kurusu said, taking that statement in stride, “Your blunt honesty can be viewed as a lack of mental acuity.” 

An insult? A warning? A pointed statement? Goro didn’t know or care. He was exhausted after dealing with Futaba’s hellscape of a Palace and all the discomforting parallels it yanked out from the depths of his soul, and having to deal with Kurusu’s stupid mystery shit when all he wanted to do was drown himself in the bath was seriously grinding on his last nerve. 

_should’ve said no when he asked to join then,_ a snide voice muttered in the back of his mind, _face it, you wanted him here. masochist._

“Or maybe,” Goro fired back, “I’m choosing my own battlefield. I see no point in playing your game when I can make you play mine.”

“And what game’s that?” Kurusu was watching him keenly now. No smiles. His blank expression was considerably more natural on his face, his dark eyelashes and soft features more suited to gentle, serene expressions than the cheshire like grins he coiled his mouth into. 

“If you have to ask that, then perhaps I overestimated your perceptiveness,” Goro purred, always willing to snipe back a ‘what are you, stupid?’ insult at every opportunity, “Akira.”

Kurusu started. There was a crack in his guard for the briefest of seconds, his grey eyes widening and his lips parting in a soundless little ‘oh’ - before the Detective Prince mask slammed right into place with a sparkling smile. Defence mechanism.

“My, my, I never thought I’d hear such familiarity from you, _Goro,”_ Kurusu returned with a smile that flashed _teeth,_ “You always kept me at arms length.”

“So did you.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment. The heat of the bath meant Kurusu’s cheeks were flushed a faint pink, a bead of sweat rolling down from his temple along the sharp cut of his jawline. The tension pulled taut, trembling, and Goro could feel Kurusu’s warm breaths against his mouth, so close that it would only take the slightest lean forwards and a tilt of his head to-

“It’s for the best,” Kurusu murmured, shattering the strange mood into irreparable pieces. His eyes were dull, clashing with the idle smile curling his mouth, “For us both.”

Goro made a quiet, indescribable noise.

“Like you said,” Kurusu retreated in millimeters, his expression remaining pleasant but shuttering closed, that faint glimpse of genuineness smothered under a protective fakeness. Goro instantly hated it, “I’m a snake.” 

“And a coward,” Goro said without thinking. 

Kurusu’s expression twitched. An exposed nerve had been brutally struck, and Goro patiently waited for the inevitable retaliation, holding that unreadable, cold stare without even flinching. 

“I hope you don’t find this questioning too invasive,” Kurusu began in a tone that implied he very much _hoped_ his next words were going to be _very_ discomforting for Goro, “But I find myself curious about those scars of yours.”

 _just go right for the jugular why don’t you,_ Goro thought acidly. 

“They look unusually precise,” Kurusu continued, his mouth curved into a sharp smile, “I must confess, they make me somewhat concerned. Is everything alright back home, _Goro?”_

“You think they’re self-inflicted?” Goro drawled, “Don’t be stupid.” 

“Mn, but you _were_ in foster care, weren’t you?” Kurusu said, something dark and knowing in his gaze.

He really went for the jugular. Goro clenched his fists against his thighs, fighting to keep his expression still. Kurusu was being cruel, they both knew it, and it was for that reason alone that Goro decided to answer. 

“I was,” he said evenly, “Why? Are you going to run off on a single-man crusade to arrest every abusive caretaker in Japan’s foster care system?”

“I might,” Kurusu leaned against the edge of the bath, drawing idle shapes on the water’s surface, “At the very least, I can start with those who did harm to you.”

“Why do you care?” 

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Kurusu held his gaze; dark, knowing, hungry, “All you need to do is give me names, and then…”

He trailed off. It felt as if the world held its breath, taut and strained, and Goro briefly wondered - what would happen, if he gave his name? If he gave Shido’s name to this potential enemy? If he gave his name, and only a few days, or even weeks later, the news burbled as Masayoshi Shido collapsed from a Mental Shutdown? It would be a confirmation of his suspicions, and also deliver swift karma to a man who truly deserved such a fate. 

Goro looked away. 

“...it’s in the past,” he said simply, “There’s no point digging up old skeletons now.”

“A crime is a crime,” Kurusu countered, “Goro.” 

Goro slipped lower into the water, until it was up to his chin. He was tempted to blow bubbles like he was a kid all over again, keeping his gaze fixed somewhere on the wall. It wasn’t what Kurusu thought, anyway. These scars - two thin, jagged scars, one beneath his ribs, the other along his hip, were from one person. He had already forgiven them for it. 

“They’re in prison,” Goro finally said, straightening up, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hmm,” Kurusu said, sounding dissatisfied. 

“I feel flattered that the _‘~*Detective Prince*~’_ himself feels compelled to rush to my defence though,” Goro mock-simpered, fluttering his eyelashes at his rival-enemy like some airheaded fanboy, “So _dreamy~”_

“Ugh,” Kurusu recoiled in open revulsion, “ _Don’t_ do that.”

“Do what?” Goro asked innocently, “I’m not doing anything.” 

Kurusu splashed him. 

“Hey!” Goro quickly scooted away from him, water sloshing messily around him from his rapid movement, “What are you, _twelve!?”_

“Oh, _my apologies~”_ Kurusu purred, his voice low and husky and full of _threat,_ “I don’t know what happened, my hand just slipped.”

“Slipped,” Goro gritted out, raking his wet hair out of his eyes. Kurusu tracked the movement intensely, “I’ll show you _slipped…”_

“Don’t,” Kurusu warned. 

Goro splashed him. 

It was a very big splash, done by using the full force of water displacement when he lunged forwards. Water sloshed over the sides of the bath, Kurusu let out this very _satisfying_ high-pitched shriek when Goro misjudged the distance and ended up on his lap, culminating in a very confused moment where they almost drowned each other in their haste to get off each other. 

Needless to say, they were very quickly asked to leave for causing a commotion. 

“Well!” Kurusu said once they did their walk of shame out of the bath house, not looking bothered in the slightest that he might’ve had Goro banned for life from there, “That was exciting.”

“You got us thrown out,” Goro said, his tone a mixture of despair and bewilderment, “Where am I going to shower now.”

“Oh, come now,” Kurusu gripped him by the shoulder, solidly steering him through the narrow alleyway, “Just give it a few days and they’ll forget about it.”

“Oh, so what, I’m not supposed to shower for a few days?” Goro snapped, shrugging his hand off and brutally elbowing the Detective Prince right in the ribs. Kurusu let out a wheezy, grunting noise.

“A-Aha…” Kurusu put some distance between them once they stepped out into the street, well out of range of Goro’s pointy, merciless elbows, “Well, hm.”

Goro glared at him.

“If it bothers you _that_ much,” Kurusu sent him a winsome smile, “I can offer you the services of _my_ shower. I don’t live too far from Yongen-Jaya, you know.”

Goro’s glare intensified. 

“What?” Kurusu asked defensively, “I’m being nice!”

“You want me,” Goro said, emphasising every word, “to go to your home, and use your shower. Naked.”

“Well, how else would you shower? _Clothed?”_ Kurusu muttered peevishly. 

Kurusu was a pile of ulterior motives wrapped up in an obnoxious bow of false pretences, so obviously there was something he wanted out of this arrangement. However, Goro was a stickler for personal hygiene, and he didn’t want to go to Sojiro and tell him he was kicked out of the bathhouse in an effort to get _unbanned._ Sojiro might get angry, and Goro had long since learned not to rock the boat when it comes to those who own the roof over your head.

“I can’t believe I’m making a deal with the devil for a shower,” Goro grumbled. 

Kurusu gave him a deadpan look, “...there are other bathhouses, you know.”

“I don’t have a _pass_ for those bathhouses,” Goro hissed, “I’m poor! Remember?!” 

“Do you want to use my shower or not?” Kurusu said. 

“Fine,” Goro said brusquely, “But don’t be weird about it.”

 _“Weird-_ I should be concerned about _you_ being weird,” Kurusu pressed a hand against his chest, theatrically posing, “Do you know how much _money_ people would pay to have photos of my apartment, or my address, or other things like that? I’m opening myself up to exploitation by trusting you with such a thing!”

“I’m not a creep,” Goro said disgustedly.

“And I’m not one either,” Kurusu lowered his hand, his mouth curled into a little grin, “So, don’t worry, _Goro._ Your virtue is safe from me. I have no plans to sully your virgi- _erk!”_

Goro stomped on his toes, and had the satisfaction of watching Kurusu hop away from him with a muted whine of pain.

“Thank you for your kind offer, _Akira,”_ Goro said with false sweetness, baring his teeth in a threatening smile when Kurusu gave him a wary look, “I’ll text you whenever I need to use your showering facilities.”

“Ah, yes,” Kurusu looked like he was regretting his ‘generosity’ now, “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you,” Goro said insincerely, and pivoted on his heel to storm into Leblanc, when he paused. 

“Oh, by the way…” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he eyed Kurusu in his peripheral, “If you wanted a name, try ‘Masayoshi Shido’.”

Kurusu went very still, but Goro looked away before he noticed it. He mulled it over, and it was win/win, really. No one else had to know. Well, no one but him and potentially White Mask-san here. 

“Goodnight,” Goro said, and entered Leblanc, leaving the silent Detective Prince behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some hints on goro's backstory there hue hue hue


	7. Bloodlust- Goro (Kamoshida Arc)

Despite looking like it should be heavy, Goro's strange armour in Kamoshida's Palace felt weightless.

It didn't even make any irritating noises despite having several buckles and joints in the vambraces and greaves; just a gentle, barely there noise like tinkling bells on the very edges of his hearing. He didn't quite get this - there was no scientific explanation for it; not that he expected one from an alternative dimension that had an evil, speedo-wearing doppelganger of Kamoshida in it.

He had bigger concerns anyway. 

**SLAUGHTER THEM**

A concern called Loki.

"We shouldn't pick unnecessary fights," Morgana whispered to him as they huddled out of sight from a passing patrol of Kamoshida's guards. They were wedged into the space between an ugly statue of a lady's ass and the wall, and it was a very tight fit with him, Ryuji and Morgana.

**CRUSH THEM**

_but loki thinks all fights are necessary,_ Goro did not say, gritting his teeth against the intense, heavy pressure leaning against his consciousness.

If it had been just himself, he might've gone for it; snapped loose and slaughtered his way through this palace to ram his sword point first down Kamoshida's throat. But he _wasn't_ alone. Ryuji was with him, and he had no armour, no weapon, no Persona, and Goro wasn't going to risk leaving him behind when gripped in the throes of bloodlust, no matter how much of a slimy shit Kamoshida was.

 **MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL,** Loki hissed, **HATE HIM, HATE HIM, HATE HIM.**

Yeah.

"Okay, they're gone," Morgana whispered, and wriggled free.

Goro slowly and gracefully unfolded himself from the hiding spot, ignoring Ryuji's muttered complaints behind him. Goro's armour hadn't been comfortable wedged up against, apparently.

Their plan, if it could be called that, was to return to the dungeons and see which students were locked up in the cells. After a crash course on the ‘Metaverse’, ‘Palaces’ and ‘Cognitions’ courtesy of Morgana, Goro understood that these weren’t _real_ students, just Kamoshida’s _cognition_ of them: i.e what he viewed them as. It meant that the students would have counterparts in reality, counterparts that could be interrogated and convinced to report Kamoshido for the abusive fuck that he was and bring him to justice!

...is what Ryuji naively thought, but Goro knew better. 

**THE ONLY JUSTICE TO EXIST IS REVENGE.**

Goro suspected that the school already knew about the abuse. From what little he had observed after _two days_ at Shujin _,_ he concluded that Kamoshida was a piece of shit snake that was being shielded by the faculty because of his ‘reputation’ as an Olympian. A teacher didn’t get away with such widespread abuse without anyone else hearing about it. He was known. Everyone just turned a blind eye. 

**WE WILL PUNISH HIM. FLAY HIM. EXPOSE THE FILTH INSIDE OF HIM.**

But first, they should attempt Ryuji’s plan, just in case. Maybe Goro was a naive fool too, hoping that just this once, justice could be achieved by doing ‘the right thing’. 

**FOOL.**

Maybe. 

“Man, this place is still so creepy,” Ryuji complained, his voice barely hushed, “What’s with all these naked butts everywhere? What a pervert…” 

“I bet he’s a rapist,” Goro said bluntly.

“Dude!” Ryuji hissed, smacking him on the arm, “Don’t just say that!”

“What’s a rapist?” Morgana asked. 

Goro and Ryuji exchanged looks, and did a quick rock-paper-scissors between them. Goro lost. 

“It’s when someone violates another person,” Goro muttered reluctantly, “It’s a very bad thing.” 

Morgana made that vague noise one made when they didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to seem ignorant either. The topic was thankfully dropped, and they continued their slow, skulking way towards the Palace’s dungeons, Goro keeping a white-knuckled grip on Loki’s overboiling bloodlust. 

The problem was, Kamoshida hit too close to him. 

While the man was vastly different to Shido in many ways, he was unnervingly similar in others. The attitude, the voracious appetite for cruelty and domination, the selfishness - every time Goro laid eyes on Kamoshida’s smug, square-jawed face, he was overcome with the need to shatter it into pieces with a lead pipe. In the real world, he could trample this urge into the dirt with well-worn practice, but in the Metaverse, where his Persona bloomed unbridled in his heart and demanded satisfaction with the strength he now possessed… it was difficult. 

Goro, to put it simply, wanted to tear Kamoshida down. He wanted to snap that disgusting arrogance into splinters and watch the _worm_ writhe in the _mud_ like the pathetic creature he was. To depose the king and turn him into a penniless beggar, stripped of all dignity and prospects. 

_death would be too good for him,_ Goro thought viciously, and Loki’s crooning voice agreed.

This rage terrified him, as much as he revelled in it. Loki’s fury was too hot, too corrosive for him to handle for too long. It ate at his self-control, at the very edges of his mind, until Goro wasn’t sure why he was even bothering with this thing called ‘restraint’. 

But he had to restrain himself. Ryuji: defenceless. As much as he wished to indulge in the wild pleasure that was vigilante justice, he didn’t want to sacrifice someone for it. 

**DON’T YOU?**

No, he didn’t. 

**WE’LL SEE. WHEN THE TIME COMES.**

Goro ignored that soft whisper in the back of his mind. Loki may be his true self, but it wasn’t the dominant self for a reason. Goro was bigger than his mindless, red-hazed rage. He was. 

(and something stirred, beneath the bubbling resentment that was Loki) 

* * *

The next day, after Ryuji had awakened his own Persona and Goro learned to hate Kamoshida that little bit more, a girl called Shiho leapt off the school roof. 

Goro could barely think beyond the fury that snarled through the very core of him as he and Ryuji charged into Kamoshida’s office. He didn’t know the girl, and barely knew her friend who had screamed and cried over her prone body, but he understood it. He understood that awful, bottoming feeling that punched through your chest cavity, and how everything stretched out until everything was too thin and trembling-

He was shaking when they confronted Kamoshida, palms sweaty and heart thumping in his throat, and he didn’t know if it was some rage or horror or - something else. A memory too barbed and agonising to even glimpse at, looming over him like Loki, demanding to be acknowledged. He couldn’t- he _couldn’t_ \- 

“You bastard! The hell did you do to that girl!?” 

“You… you ordered me to call Suzui here…”

And all it took was for Kamoshida to dismissively wave his hand - the sheer callousness, the absolute lack of empathy towards someone he wronged so deeply- that looming, barbed memory sunk its claws in-

_("Don't you care!? Because of you, she-!"_

_"Because of me?" Shido drew himself up, looking down on him like Goro was nothing more than a pathetic bug squirming at his feet, "You’re-)_

“-going on and on about things you have no proof of!”

Goro's vision clouded red.

" _You piece of_ **_shit_** _,"_ Goro snarled, prowling past Ryuji and Mishima with murder in his heart, "How _dare_ you stand there and think it isn’t your fault!"

Kamoshida-Shido-Kamoshida loomed over Goro threateningly. He was bigger, broader and more muscled, but Goro barely acknowledged it. He was filled with molten rage, fingers curled into fists and his pulse roaring in his ears. 

People like this- it was people like them who-!

"My fault? She threw her own damn self off the roof!" Kamoshida snapped-

 _(“_ ** _She’s_ ** _the one who decided to kill herself and ---”)_

"You act like I pushed her off myself!"

_("I wasn't the one holding the knife.")_

"It's her own fault!"

_("It's her own fault.")_

Goro didn't know what noise he made, but it came from the very core of him. The scene felt hazy, overlapped with a different one that happened not so long ago, and that thorny, venomous rage he harboured threatened to erupt and blind him. For the briefest of moments, he was sure he could summon Loki into reality just from the force of his emotions alone.

This bastard. This _man-_ he’ll smash that smug face right in-!

A strong hand clamped onto his bicep just as he moved to lunge forwards in a mindless fury, snapping him out of that red-tinged bloodlust with all the grace of a boot to the face. Ryuji.

"Dude, wait-!" Ryuji's frustrated anger felt like a drop in the bucket compared to Goro's, "I know you wanna, but you're on probation…!"

"And he just tried to attack a teacher," Kamoshida finished smugly, " _All_ of you did, in fact. A planned ambush in my office? As expected of a violent thug like you."

“W-We weren’t…” Mishima stuttered behind them. 

“What the hell- you abuse students!” Ryuji finally burst, his grip bruisingly tight on Goro’s arm, “You don’t get to call any of us ‘thugs’, you _creep!”_

“Insulting me too!” Kamoshida crossed his arms over his chest, his square face twisted into a mask of rage. He looked identical to his distorted Shadow, ugly emotions and all, “All of you are _expelled!”_

“I didn’t know you were promoted to _principal,”_ Goro spat, “Is your delusion of grandeur that great that you think you can expel students whenever you want?”

“I’ll report you all at the next board meeting in a month’s time,” Kamoshida growled back, “Don’t bother trying to protest it - who would consider what scum like you say?”

Mishima made a soft, wounded noise, and Ryuji sounded like an over-boiling tea kettle, but an abrupt wave of calm overcame Goro. He looked at this ugly monster of a man, his sneering face and looming posture, and realised that while they were powerless _here,_ they weren’t in his Palace. 

His Palace. 

Where his Shadow lived. 

Where they had the means to extract their pound of flesh as _slowly_ and _painfully_ as they wished. 

_(where they could_ **_(kill)_ ** _bring this man to justice)_

The rage curdled, filled him with a psychotic sort of glee at the idea. Goro had to fight down the savage smile that wanted to spread across his face, had to bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted metal and slowly looked down, hiding behind his hair and glasses. Let Kamoshida think he was cowed. 

“A month’s a long time,” Goro murmured softly, “Anything can happen between now and then.”

He went unheard. Kamoshida was still talking. 

“You threatened me too, Mishima, you’re just as responsible. To think you didn’t know why I kept someone as talentless as you on the team. You act like a victim, but you leaked his criminal records, didn’t you? It’s all over the internet, correct? How terrible.” 

What?

“Mishima…?” Ryuji asked, turning to the spineless boy Goro had mostly forgotten about. 

“H-He told me to do it. I had no choice…” Mishima weakly defended himself, anxiously looking over to Goro, but-

Honestly, he didn’t care. 

Mishima’s crime was nothing, relatively. It was personal to Goro, but he didn’t care if students shrank away from him, whispering about his violent disposition behind their hands. He made no secret that he was a barely tamed attack dog, lunging at anything vaguely threatening. It ensured people stayed away from him, kept their distances with their fake smiles and ulterior motives. 

Mishima’s crime was _nothing._ Goro forgave him. Kamoshida, on the other hand… 

“Now, are we finished here? You’re all expelled!”

Kamoshida’s crime deserved _punishment._

They left the office, Ryuji cursing Kamoshida to the depths of hell, an ashen Mishima and a hissing Morgana in tow. Ahead of the group, his back to them all, Goro finally let that savage smile break free, already envisioning the squeals of fear that piece of shit Shadow will let out when Goro hunted him down in his little cage he called a Palace. 

There won't be any escape from _justice._

* * *

It was something of a disappointment, later, when Morgana presented a less lethal method to deal with Kamoshida. A change of heart? It sounded like brainwashing, or mutilating the man’s soul into something more socially acceptable. It was absolutely horrific and violating… which was why Goro ultimately agreed. 

Death sounded too pleasant, compared to a forced _change of heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> roleswap or not... he's still akechi goro lol


	8. Hitting Critical - Ann+Goro+Ryuji+Morgana (Kamoshida Arc)

“You better explain what’s going on! I won’t leave until you do!”

Takamaki’s anger was a raw, splintery thing. The shock and horror from earlier, where she was half-thrown over Suzui’s prone body in near-hysterics, was gone, burned up with something vengeful and barbed. It was a rage Goro was intimately familiar with, couldn’t help but empathise with even as Ryuji turned to Morgana and said; 

“Looks like we gotta force her to leave.”

“Or not,” Goro instantly countered, before the cat could even open his mouth, “We should take her with us.”

Ryuji and Morgana both swung round to gape at him, and Takamaki did the same, her rage ebbing slightly from surprised confusion. 

“For real!?” Ryuji squawked, “But, she’s-”

“She’s defenceless! What if she gets hurt?!” Morgana yowled. 

Takamaki’s jaw clenched at that, jutting her chin out as her hands fisted by her side; “ _Defenceless?!_ I can take care of myself! I- I can throw a solid punch!”

Goro idly dragged the tip of his claw along the nose of his visor, a lingering habit where he’d fidget with his glasses; “If you recall, Ryuji, we were both defenceless in this place too. And weren’t we just discussing how we needed another member for our team?”

“You want her to…?” Ryuji seemed discomforted.

“Besides, Takamaki has a _vested interest_ in this,” Goro let his gaze weigh on the girl. Takamaki met it boldly - even though she was clearly bewildered and confused, her anger kept her focused. If Goro had been in her shoes, had known there was a chance to claim vengeance, no matter how outlandish or dangerous... 

“You want revenge for your friend, right?” Goro asked, “On Kamoshida.”

“Of course I do!” Takamaki’s gaze lowered, her eyes bright with tears but her mouth pulled into a furious snarl, “I-I want him to pay for what he did to Shiho! If you guys know of a way to- to bring him to justice or… I want in! You have to include me! I’m her _best friend!”_

“The Shadows are going to hear us!” Morgana hissed. Goro waved a hand dismissively. 

“Alright, Takamaki,” Goro said, his voice lulling into a gentle cadence, “We’ll take you with us… _if_ you promise to stick close and not recklessly charge ahead. It’s dangerous in here, and running off on your own could result in your injury or death.”

Takamaki swallowed at that, but her resolve didn’t waver, “Fine. I agree. I’ll stick close to you.” 

“Are you sure about this?” Ryuji asked. He seemed a bit uncertain about the whole thing, but when Goro nodded, he seemingly shrugged away his doubts with a drawn out, put-upon sigh, “I hope we won’t regret it.” 

“Regret it? Ryuji, if this goes well, Takamaki might awaken her Persona too,” Goro said brightly, playfully shoving at Ryuji’s shoulder so he staggered to the side with a grunt, “Having another person around to _crush that_ ** _piece of shit_** will make things significantly easier on us.” 

“Dude, your bloodlust combined with that friendly tone is _creepy,”_ Ryuji complained, but he seemed a bit more comfortable with the idea, “Fine, you won’t hear any complaints from me.” 

“Don’t worry, Lady Ann,” Morgana piped up, puffing out his little chest and shooting a cocky grin Takamaki’s way, “I’ll protect you with my life! So make sure to stick close to me!”

“Uh, okay,” Takamaki said dubiously. She didn’t seem to know what to think about Morgana. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Goro said, his sharp, clipped tone bringing Ryuji and Morgana to heel, “We mustn’t let the king wait. It’s rude.” 

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” Ryuji mock-saluted. 

With that, their little motley crew snuck into the Palace as one.

* * *

Luckily, Takamaki had the sense to stay close to them as they traversed the Palace. Initially she looked too overwhelmed by the bizarre Shadows and the incoherent physics of the Palace, but slowly that confusion gave way to disgust and rage the more paintings of Kamoshida they passed, the busts of naked women and, finally, The Room. 

It was a small room, hidden away behind a secret door. There was a crucifix-style post in the centre with cruel looking manacles prised open, awaiting slender wrists to clamp down on. Plastered on the walls of this room were photographs of Suzui: Suzui smiling at Ann, Suzui hugging Ann, Suzui peering up at the camera in fear, Suzui cringing away cupping her cheek, Suzui crying, Suzui with her face turned away in just her bra-

“ _What is_ **_this?!”_ ** Takamaki screamed, tearing down the disgusting photographs so viciously she broke her nail against the wall. She didn’t seem to notice, “All of these- these are- _these can’t be real!!”_

Ryuji looked like he didn’t know where to look, staring fixedly at the crucifix with a nauseous look on his face. Morgana was gaping at Takamaki tearing down the photographs like a woman possessed, shreds of paper following in her furious wake. Goro stooped down and picked up a loose photograph that was one of many strewn on the floor, the thin paper crinkling under his grasp. Printer paper, not glossy card. 

Suzui smiled up at him, her face clear of bruises. 

“Takamaki…” Ryuji said quietly, once Takamaki had done a full circuit of the room. The girl’s cheeks were wet with tears, and there were smudges of blood on her fingers where she had cut herself on the paper. Her chest was heaving with the force of her unsteady breathing, her expression beyond raw. 

“I-I can’t believe I thought…” Takamaki clenched her fingers around the fistful of shredded paper, and she looked like she didn’t know what to do with this anger overboiling inside of her, “I was doing it for _her,_ but all this time, he was going behind my back and doing _this_?”

“You didn’t know,” Ryuji said awkwardly, but sincerely, “It’s that bastard’s fault. Not yours, not hers.”

“He targeted her because of _me!”_ Takamaki yelled. 

“He would have targeted her anyway, if only for convenience,” Goro refuted gently, letting the unblemished photo of Suzui slip from his fingers. It fluttered to the floor, “Think, Takamaki. She was part of the volleyball team, where it wouldn’t be suspicious if he called her to the office after hours…”

Takamaki was shaking, and he didn’t know if she was going to scream or cry. 

“The only one to blame is Kamoshida,” Goro continued, “He decided to abuse his position of authority. _He_ decided, all on his own, to prey on vulnerable students to feed his ego. He is the one to focus all your anger on.”

Takamaki took in two slow, shuddering breaths, something in her devastated gaze hardening, “You’re right.” 

She straightened up, a muscle in her jaw working as she gritted out, again, harsher, angrier, “You’re _right._ This is _his_ fault. That- that sick pervert!”

“Who are you to call _me_ a sick pervert!?”

As one, they all spun to the entrance of the room where, surprise, Shadow Kamoshida in all his grotesque, pink speedo glory stood, flanked by guards and-

“T-Takamaki?!” Ryuji squawked. 

“Cognitive Takamaki!” Morgana snapped, “The real one is _right there,_ idiot _!”_

The Cognitive Takamaki, with barbie doll proportions and wearing a bunny girl bikini, giggled vapidly as she clung to Shadow Kamoshida like she had lost all use of her legs, “They’re, like, just jealous, King Kamoshida!”

“Is that- supposed to be _me?!”_ Takamaki demanded, sounding thoroughly revolted. 

“King Kamoshida,” Goro greeted, letting his derision hang heavily on every syllable, “I wondered when you would poke your cowardly snout out of your rathole.”

Shadow Kamoshida’s nostrils flared as he thrust a finger in Goro’s direction. 

“This will be the last time you’ll insult me!” Shadow Kamoshida snarled, “You’re nothing but a pathetic, worthless _thug!_ Unwanted! A throwaway orphan who no one will-”

“Hey!” Ryuji snapped, “Shut the hell up, you sicko!”

Goro felt his mouth pull into a savage smile, bearing teeth, “No, no, Ryuji, let him dig his grave deeper.”

“You all exist to serve and amuse me!” Shadow Kamoshida roared, “All of you! Princess Ann, Maid Shiho-!”

“Uh, guys?” Morgana piped up anxiously, “Lady Ann-”

“ _I am going to_ **_crUSH YOOOOOU!!!”_ **

Ryuji and Goro’s spines snapped upright the second they heard that shrill howl tear through the small room. Self-preservation instincts slammed into high gear and Goro dived out of the way just in time to witness the small room they were in, quite literally, turn into a flaming pit of hell. 

Takamaki’s rage hit critical mass, and that, remarkably, accelerated her Persona Awakening into a _literal explosion of fury._

“Holy _shit!”_ Ryuji shrieked as he, Goro and Morgana took cover in the furthest corner from the inferno, watching the awakened Takamaki chase a hysterical Shadow Kamoshida out of the room like a rampaging, screaming dragon. In her wake her Persona, a domineering, looming woman who commanded the world to accommodate her, stepped out of the room with the doorway widening for her so she didn’t have to stoop, flames licking at her stiletto heels. 

Morgana’s eyes were almost popping out of his skull, “T-That was- she’s- she’s _incredible!”_

“She also ran off in a blind fury,” Goro deadpanned. 

“Oh crap! We better catch up to her!” Ryuji bolted after her, with Morgana hot on his heels. 

Goro sighed, brushed a few flecks of ash off his shoulders, and took chase. 

They found Takamaki not too far away, doubled over and panting. Shadow Kamoshida and his guards were nowhere to be seen, as well as her scary Persona. 

“Arrr _rrrrgh!”_ Takamaki howled at the floor, her legs shaking violently as she wrenched herself upright, “Why- why do I feel so- so _tired?!_ He got away-!”

“You awakened your Persona,” Morgana told her - conveniently out of arm’s reach; “Which is really exhausting. You have to rest!”

Takamaki made a vague, wordless growl of frustration, but something in her seemed to uncoil and grow limp. She turned to them, pushing her mask up her face, her pale skin beaded with sweat and flushed from heat. 

“I…” Takamaki sighed and closed her eyes, “I’m sorry, I just- I just saw red…”

“Dude,” Ryuji said, his voice hushed, “That was _amazing._ Takamaki, you’re _scary!”_

Takamaki opened her eyes, something uncertain but pleased and shy in her expression, “You think so?”

“We were all cowerin’ in the room when you went stormin’ off!” Ryuji assured. 

“I didn’t _cower,”_ Goro grumbled. 

“Dude, you were clinging to me just as hard as I was clingin’ to you.”

“You’re so cool, Lady Ann!” Morgana gushed, literal stars in his eyes.

“Oh come on, guys…” Takamaki huffed, but she was smiling, her gaze lowering- “Wha-! Hey, what’s with these _clothes?!”_

After giving Takamaki - now Ann, she demanded - a crash course on Persona and Palaces, they felt it right to leave the Palace. While they didn’t get much accomplished inside of it, Goro was pleased with the result regardless. They had another ally dedicated to the total destruction of Kamoshida, so it was only a matter of time until they enacted their vengeance. 

“Your smile is kinda scary, Crow,” Morgana observed on the train back to Yongen-Jaya, “You look like you’re planning to bite someone.” 

“That’s rude,” Goro said without much heat, and roughly scratched Morgana behind the ears. 

Yes, their revenge scheme was going well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the end i decided to dedicate the robin hood awakening to its own chapter, haha i hope you enjoyed my version of ann's awakening :)


	9. (Gay) Disaster - Akira/Goro (TV Station)

In another world, where their positions were reversed, Detective Prince Goro Akechi approached Akira Kurusu with a smile and a handshake, spouting some philosophical line in an attempt to seem well read and eloquent. Even though he had known Akira to be a potential enemy that he would need to neutralise further down the line, Goro still desired to be accepted and liked. 

In  _ this _ world, however, where Detective Prince Akira Kurusu approached Goro Akechi with an amused grin and ulterior motives, Goro wasn’t bound by the desire of acceptance. He had long since absorbed the fact that he was a nail to hammer down, an outlier that Japanese society averted their eyes from and shunned, no matter how much he tried to seem harmless, or perfect, or friendly.

Akira Kurusu of the other world was quiet and reserved and polite. 

Goro Akechi of this world was not. 

“I’m glad I found you. I wanted to thank you in person,” Akira, the Detective Prince, opened with, “To paraphrase Hegel, advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis, to create synthesis-”

“You know, Hegel’s triad was concrete, abstract and absolute,” Goro interrupted, “Thesis, antithesis and synthesis originated with Johann Fichte.”

_ Idiot, _ hung unsaid, but loud, between them.

Akira blinked.

“My, my,” the Detective Prince swiftly recovered, his false smile easing into something more amused, “ _ That’s _ a first.”

“What do you want?” Goro asked, openly looking the Detective Prince up and down. Despite the sweltering heat inside the TV station, Akira was dressed in a white turtleneck sweater with his brown school blazer over the top. It was a strange mix, but Goro wasn’t au fait with Tokyo fashion.

“As I said, I wanted to thank you,” Akira said, lifting a hand to drag his fingers through his hair, pushing those thick, dark curls back. Goro eyed the gesture, admittedly envious of how Akira made a bird’s nest look so good, “Our discussion was quite meaningful.” 

“Discussion? I said ‘fuck the police’ on live television.”

“If only you said it in those exact words,” Akira muttered, the corner of his mouth pulling a little higher, into an almost smirk before he caught himself and his expression smoothed out into that plastic smile once more, “Few people around me are so willing to speak their minds as freely as you did earlier.”

_ well, you’re practically a cop, _ Goro did not say. 

“I wonder why,” he said instead.

“Adults are only interested in using the young, while they simply do as the adults say,” Akira continued as if Goro hadn’t spoken, placing a strange emphasis on certain words in that out of the blue statement. 

Goro squinted at him. What was he...

“There are too many irresponsible people in these modern times. I can understand why you’d support the Phantom Thieves.” Ah, there it was. “It’s possible that this group is just as you believe and they are truly acting with good intentions. Since they have special talents, I assume their hearts must be burning with a sense of justice and duty...”

Goro couldn’t help it - he  _ laughed. _

“Hm?” Akira seemed a bit bewildered at the response, “Did I say something funny?”

“When did I say I believed them to be well-intentioned?” Goro chuckled, slouching his shoulders a little as he peered at the Detective Prince over the rim of his glasses, “I just said they did more than the cops, which is true. The  _ Yakuza _ do more than the cops, sometimes. A neighbourhood  _ gang _ does more than the cops, sometimes. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re noble heroes, just  _ effective.” _

The change was subtle, but there  _ was _ a change in the way Akira looked at him then. The plastic quality of his expression melted into something far more natural, his head tilting a fraction to the side as his eyes lit up with some unknown, yet calculating emotion. It was like witnessing a bored predator lift its head in sudden interest. 

“So, you endorse vigilante justice no matter the intention?” Akira questioned, “You are aware what a slippery slope it can be, yes?”

“Everything is, isn’t it?” Goro gestured vaguely, “Our  _ justice system  _ is encumbered by corruption. It no longer serves the people, it serves the  _ government, _ and many people end up getting abused by it as a result. Or by the cops.”

“Have you had a bad experience with the police?” Akira asked. 

Goro’s expression cooled, “None of your business.”

“Yes, then,” Akira said cheerily, “My, my, no wonder your opinions are so…  _ passionate. _ You have a personal stake in this. The police failed you, and so you turn to fringe groups such as the Phantom Thieves to find satisfaction in justice.”

“Isn’t justice subjective, anyway?” Goro said, his tone sharper than he intended, “What one group thinks is harsh, another too lenient.” 

“It depends if you view justice from a legal lens, or a philosophical one,” Akira said, “But the legal definition of it is rather soulless, hm?”

Akira paused and gave him an intense, albeit unreadable look. 

“I’m enjoying this conversation a great deal, but I really can’t linger,” he sounded genuinely reluctant to leave, “Can we exchange numbers? I’d like to talk to you some more.”

Goro’s knee-jerk answer was to refuse, but he recalled the strange moment yesterday, when he encountered this weirdo in the corridor and he understood Morgana. Which meant he was a Metaverse user - or could speak Cat, honestly Goro would believe anything now - and considering this ‘White Mask’ Shadow Madarame spoke of… 

“Sure,” Goro said slowly, “If you send me a dick pic though, I’m blocking you.” 

Akira blinked at him, genuine surprise shining through in the form of a stuttered; “Ah- I. Won’t. Send you dick pics?” 

“Just setting down the boundary line,” Goro said absently, not even bothering to hold back his amused smirk.

“You- oh. You’re teasing me,” Akira laughed, the noise honest and startled, “You’re surprisingly vulgar.”

They exchanged numbers (and names, as Goro belatedly realised he hadn’t introduced himself), and when Goro stowed his phone, Akira held out his hand. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” the Detective Prince said with a winsome smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made him look charmingly boyish. He was, annoyingly, drop dead gorgeous, and Goro had to viciously stamp down on the beginning embers of interest that tried to spark. If his gut feeling was correct, this guy was going to become their Javert. No need to complicate matters with making bedroom eyes at his stupidly handsome face. 

_ i hate you, _ Goro mentally grumbled. 

“Yeah, sure,” Goro said with as much boredom as he could muster, and took Akira’s gloved hand- 

-and the world stopped, as it did for those bizarre moments where a new Arcana was gifted to him. The disembodied voice whispered, and as Goro waited, he predicted his new ‘friend’ would be Justice. He had to be- 

**_TOWER_ **

-or not. 

The world resumed, and Goro let go of the Detective Prince’s hand. He eyed him with renewed caution. 

“I’ll contact you soon,” Akira said, oblivious to Goro’s tension, “Goodbye, Akechi.”

“Mm,” Goro grunted, and watched his Tower Arcana leave, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

_ just who are you? _

* * *

“Why are you growling at your phone?”

Goro didn’t immediately answer Morgana, scowling at his screen as he scrolled through Akira’s food blog. After that encounter in the TV Station and gaining that  _ ominous _ Arcana (deception and unforeseen catastrophe, yeah,  _ that _ is a red flag), Goro decided to do some  _ reconnaissance _ on their future Javert. He did this around bedtime, snuggled up in bed on his crappy mattress, and disliked the results of his research. 

Akira was, in short,  _ perfect. _

His social media was immaculate, he was  _ unfairly _ photogenic, he did a lot of sports (including fishing and billiards!), he ran a  _ food blog _ and, oh, could apparently cook gourmet meals and do complicated latte art that he posted on his  _ social media-! _

“I hate him!” Goro yelled, bolting upright and shaking his phone like it was the cause of the handsome Detective Prince’s perfection, “No one can be that perfect!”

“Crow!?”

Oh, right. Morgana. 

Feeling heat rush to his face, Goro blustered; “I- I’m doing research on that detective!”

Morgana gave him a very dubious look. 

“Look,” Goro said, lowering his phone onto his lap so Morgana could see, “ _ Look! _ He has so many followers, and all these photos- he has to photoshop them. I refuse to believe he looks that good  _ all the time _ \- he’s in fishing clothes! How dare he look so good in tartan!”

Morgana’s dubious look became mildly concerned. 

“Uh, Crow…” the cat tried. 

“His stupid hair should look awful!” Goro continued, building up steam in his tirade, “Has he ever heard of a comb?! I bet he uses that 2-in-1 shampoo shit too, the  _ asshole, _ where I have to use specific shampoo and conditioner so I don’t get  _ dandruff! _ He just rolls out of bed and has it all- all thick and perfect-”

“Crow.”

“And he can  _ cook _ too!? Look at this shit- oh, god, he fucking  _ bakes-!” _

“Crow!” Morgana yelled. 

Goro stopped. 

“You…” Morgana squinted at him, “Do you have a  _ crush _ on him? You only just met him!”

“Of course not! I just hate his stupid, perfect face,” Goro growled.

There was a very long, judgemental pause where Morgana made it clear he didn’t believe him in the slightest. 

“...don’t look at me like that,” Goro grumbled self-consciously, hating how he could practically feel  _ steam _ coming off his cheeks.

“Just remember he’s  _ suspicious!” _ Morgana said firmly, “He’s a Metaverse user,  _ and _ he singled you out! I doubt it’s a coincidence. He’s clearly up to something.”

_ or he really liked my ‘fuck the cops’ stance, _ Goro’s hormones simpered. 

_ quiet you, _ Goro growled at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighed, his gaze sliding back to his phone. There was a picture of one of Akira’s latte arts: a skillfully done rose, “I’m not stupid.”

His dick sure was, though. 

“I don’t trust him,” Goro continued, flopping back down and hearing the crates creak loudly in protest underneath him, “Not in the slightest, but…”

“But?” Morgana pressed, coming over to sprawl half across his chest. Goro rested a hand on the cat’s head, idly scratching behind his ears. 

“But, we could hardly call ourselves ‘Phantom Thieves’ if we didn’t have our own Inspector Javert hot on our tail,” Goro said, “We can have a battle of wits, fake each other out, etcetera. Keeps things exciting.”

“I really worry about you sometimes,” Morgana sighed. 

A comfortable pause lulled between them. Goro continued to cyberstalk Akira, snooping through his many photo galleries. He really got around, this Detective Prince. He had photographs all over Tokyo, different cafes and restaurants - did it really pay that well to be an intern? He must be an intern, there was no way he was an  _ actual _ legitimate detective. 

_ rich parents, maybe? _ Goro thought, and hated him that little bit more. 

Goro must’ve been making a face, because Morgana said, a bit snippily, “Why don’t you just  _ text _ him already?”

“What, and come across as desperate? No way.”

“You’re sorta  _ acting _ desperate,” Morgana said primly, “You’ve been looking at his ‘stupid, perfect face’ for over an  _ hour.” _

Had it really been that long? With a prickle of embarrassment, Goro realised he had indeed ogling Akira’s fucking photogenic face for almost seventy minutes straight. Though, in his defence, once he found his cycling photos he was gone. Those calves and thighs should be outlawed.

Goro pointedly locked his phone and shoved it under his pillow, “There. Happy?”

“No,” Morgana said, because he was a brat, and kneaded his paws against his chest, “Go to sleep. Maybe you’ll get over him in the morning.” 

Goro was just praying he didn’t  _ get up _ from him as he slept, because he wasn’t sure how up to date Morgana was when it came to specific human anatomy. He aggressively thought of the most unattractive thing - Shadow Kamoshida in his disgusting pink speedo - and felt whatever lingering arousal he had die a quick, violent death. 

_ ugh, _ Goro thought, closing his eyes,  _ nightmares will come for me now.  _

* * *

They didn’t, unfortunately.

* * *

The next time he saw Akira was entirely by accident. 

Several days had passed without contact from the Detective Prince, and Goro refused to break first - despite Morgana pestering him to just  _ “message the jerk already, I’m tired of you sighing every five minutes!” _

He ran into him, quite literally, late at night after a long, mind-numbing shift at 777. Luckily, Goro wasn’t dressed in the uniform - he would’ve dived into the nearby dumpster to avoid Akira otherwise - but he was grumpy, half-asleep, and almost trampled Akira in his haste to catch the train back to Yongen-Jaya. 

_ “Oh!” _ Akira laughed when he steadied them both, his grip sure and firm on Goro’s bicep, “My apologies, I- oh? Well, if it isn’t Akechi!”

Goro tugged his arm free, hating how he could feel the imprint of Akira’s hand still against his skin, even through the thick layer of his hoodie, “Oh, you.”

“Hahah!” Akira’s showman grin was bright, “That’s the first time anyone has greeted me so unenthusiastically. Is everything alright?”

“I just finished my part-time job,” Goro said reluctantly, feeling Morgana wriggle about in the Monabag, “I’m tired.” 

“Your part-time job…?” Akira repeated quizzically. 

“Triple Seven,” Goro clarified with heavy resignation. 

Akira bit his bottom lip, clearly stifling a laugh. Goro very stonily stared past his shoulder, refusing to focus on that.

“Ah, interesting uniforms,” Akira said slyly, and shifted to switch his briefcase to his other hand, “Well, I shouldn’t keep you then, if you’re exhausted. Ah, and I should say, I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you recently. Work has been keeping me busy.” 

Akira took out his phone, checking the date and time, “I might… yes, Sunday? I can meet with you this Sunday?”

“Sure,” Goro said, without even bothering to consult his mental calendar, “That works.”

Akira gave him that stupid, winsome smile - his cheeks had  _ dimples.  _ Fuck this asshole.

“Wonderful! I’ll message you a time and location later, then,” Akira said cheerily, and with that, he departed with a friendly, “Bye-bye!”

Goro watched him go, and stayed standing there like a dumbass for one long minute. 

Morgana poked his head out of the Monabag, “Shouldn’t you be catching a train?”

“I hate him,” Goro said tonelessly, “So much. With every fibre of my being.” 

“You have a crush,” Morgana told him. 

“I hate him,” Goro insisted, and continued towards the train station.

Akira really was shaping up to be a looming disaster. Tower. God, it suited him. 

(he was so fucked)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not shown: on sunday goro gives akira a letter that says "GET OUT OF MY CITY"


	10. Selfish Heroism - Goro+Phantom Thieves+Makoto (Kamoshida Arc)

"The fact that the room was hidden meant he knew it was wrong."

Morgana looked up from where he had been eating the leftovers of Goro's lunch, "Huh?"

"Yesterday," Goro clarified, tilting his chair back that little bit more. It was well into the lunch period, and his two new friends were elsewhere tending to personal things. This left Goro to stew with his new 'cat' on the school roof, with nothing but cold, leftover curry for lunch and a pilfered tennis ball to amuse himself.

He rocked back and forth on his chair and tossed the tennis ball.

_ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT' _ echoed across the rooftop as the ball bounced off the floor, struck the wall, and bounced back into his waiting hand.

"He was open about having lustful thoughts towards the volleyball team's female players," Goro continued, rubbing his thumb against the warm, fuzzy felt of the tennis ball, "Yet that room with Suzui…"

_ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT' _

"He hid it away," Goro finished.

"Does it matter if he knew it was wrong?" Morgana asked curiously.

"It won't change his fate."  _ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT'. _ "But it's a little worse, isn't it? Knowing something is shameful and vile, right down to the subconscious level, and indulging in it anyway."

"His distorted desires make him unable to care about the consequences," Morgana explained, "Once we steal them, he'll become a good man."

"Will he?"  _ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT'. _ "Experiencing artificially generated remorse isn't anything close to a redemption. It's just a bastardised ego death without the catharsis."

"Ego death?"

_ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT' _

"It's-" Goro stopped when the rooftop door opened and a vaguely familiar girl walked out into the open space. She was frowning.

"This place is off-limits to students," the girl told him, her stern tone immediately putting Goro’s back up.

He maintained eye contact and tossed the ball.

_ 'DUM-DUM-CHKT' _

The girl twitched at the ball skimming close to her arm, harmlessly bouncing off the wall and back into Goro's hand.

"Oh?" he hummed curiously, "I'm not planning to jump, if that's what the ban is for."

“That isn’t something to joke about,” the girl said quietly, her eyes narrowing when Goro simply tossed the ball again. As it bounced against the wall, she turned sharply and caught it out of the air with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“Hey,” Goro said. 

“Did you take this from the sports store?” the girl asked, frowning at the faded ink on the tennis ball’s surface saying ‘SHUJIN’. 

“It’s not like anyone will miss it,” Goro said dismissively, letting his chair rock forward so it sat on all four legs once more. He leaned on his elbows, tilting his head as he peered up at the girl from over his glasses. Why did she look familiar- oh. 

“You’re the Student Council President,” he said, “Your name escapes me.” 

“Makoto Niijima,” the girl said primly, drawing herself up proudly, “You’re the new transfer student, Goro Akechi, correct?”

She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing as she studied Goro’s slouched, uncaring posture. He could see the moment she mentally catalogued and placed him into a box labelled ‘Trouble’. 

“Rumours are you’re a dangerous delinquent,” Niijima continued, “You’ve been arrested for assault and have been cautioned in the past for a myriad of minor crimes, such as petty theft.” She lifted the tennis ball pointedly. “Your previous school records also label you as a troublemaker who makes a frequent habit of cheating on his exams without being caught.”

“My, my, Miss Detective,” Goro praised mockingly, “You certainly have a nose for criminals. Your point?”

Niijima took a deep breath through her nose, “You have come to this school with your reputation already in shambles, yet Shujin Academy has taken a chance on you regardless.” 

“I swoon at their generosity,” Goro said. 

“You could use this as a second chance,” Niijima continued valiantly, and there was something - strangely earnest in her gaze, “Shujin Academy is a prestigious school, and no matter your previous records, if you do well from this point on, people may overlook it. If- if you struggle with studying and the like, my door is always open to assist in such matters.” 

Goro stared at her. 

“Think about it,” Niijima said, and she tossed the ball back to him. 

He caught it automatically, and straightened up in his seat, idly tossing the ball up and down in his hand. Her kindness was given out of pity, he knew, and tainted by the fact that she utterly believed the lies in his ‘school records’. Cheating. Every single score in his exam was  _ genuine, _ they just couldn’t comprehend a ‘violent’ delinquent bounced between foster homes being academically skilled. 

“I have never cheated in my life,” Goro said, and he tossed the ball against the wall once more, pushing his chair back on its rear legs, “I don’t need to. After all, I’m intelligent enough to succeed on my own merits.”

Niijima looked dubious.

“...as I said, my door is always open,” she said, and with one last, piercing look, left him alone. He was surprised. He expected her to chase him off the roof. 

“Who was that?” Morgana asked, leaping out of whatever hiding place he had bolted to.

_ ‘DUM-DUM-CHKT’ _

“A busybody,” Goro said.

“What was all that stuff about stealing and cheating?” 

_ ‘DUM-DUM-CHKT’ _

“Hmm,” Goro lowered his chair onto all four legs again, glancing at Morgana, “You’re a busybody too.”

“Hey! I am not!”

Goro laughed, tossing the ball high into the air and catching it again, “It’s nothing to worry about, Mona. I’m just a petty criminal at the end of the day, typical for trash like me. You see, in this society, if you do not conform to the norm, you are to be shunned or forced into compliance.”

Morgana frowned, “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It isn’t,” Goro said, “But that’s how it is.” 

“Well, we can change it,” Morgana said boldly, “We can change society! We’ll change Kamoshida’s heart, and then-”

“Everyone else’s?” Goro huffed quietly, “We’ll be at it until we’re dead of old age.” 

He idly bounced the ball against the floor, “Besides, I’m too selfish to dedicate myself to such a noble pursuit. I’ll steal the hearts of those who have wronged me and mine, and make  _ my _ life that little bit better… or vindicated, at least.”

“Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense. We’re thieves, not heroes,” Morgana said thoughtfully, “Is there another heart you want to change after Kamoshida, Crow?”

Goro caught the ball and squeezed it so tight his hand hurt. 

“...oh, there might be,” he said lightly, and tossed the ball at the wall again with extra force. 

_ ‘DUM-DUM’CHKT’ _

“But it can wait.” 

* * *

“This place is huge, but no guards? That’s suspicious…” 

Crow hummed in agreement to Mona’s observation, peering around the pillar to see organised rows of pews. It was a church of some kind, with a towering statue of Kamoshida on the altar, hands raised towards the ceiling with that moronic grin on his face. Crow was surprised there weren’t droves of cognitive students all languishing prayers upon the altar - it was, instead, utterly empty. 

_ definitely suspicious, _ he thought. 

“But the Treasure’s up ahead, right?” Skull said, “We don’t got a choice but to keep goin’.”

“I guess that’s true…” Mona said doubtfully, “But we need to make sure we’re ready for whatever might be ahead.”

_ ah, he’s jinxed it, _ Crow mentally sighed. 

“What do you think, Crow?” Mona asked him. 

“I think we should just spring the trap,” Crow said lazily, “We can handle anything that comes our way.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Skull cheered, slapping Crow hard on the shoulder. His armour audibly rattled, “With all four of us, there ain’t no Shadow that can withstand us!”

“Are you sure we’re not being too cocky?” Panther asked, but her tone wasn’t serious.

“It’ll be fine,” Crow said, and he boldly strutted out from behind the pillar, his strides sure and confident. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, tied easily to his Metaverse armour’s belt, and couldn’t help but feel like a Dark Knight from an RPG game about to storm an evil empire’s church, or something. The idea of it put a small smirk on his face. 

Their group stopped in the middle of the ‘church’, Crow turning to stare down the row of pews. Before their eyes, the church wavered and melted away, revealing:

“Wait, was that… the gym?” Panther asked. 

“I get it…” Skull said, “The gym’s some kinda holy place for him. He’s a god there.”

They ambled towards the altar, the church snapping back into place around them, and peered up at the towering effigy to King Kamoshida. It looked like it was constructed out of pure white marble, and soft pink rose petals fluttered round the statue’s head, a disembodied light radiating around it like a facsimile of a halo. The sight of it repulsed him. 

“I can’t believe he can think like that, especially after what he did to Shiho…” Panther seethed. 

Crow once again thought to his earlier musings, how Kamoshida understood what he did to Suzui was wrong - vile enough to hide away even in a Palace dedicated to his disgusting vices. Was it the physical abuse that made him ashamed? Or was it that he derived a perverse pleasure from causing pain and fear to those like Shiho, more than the sexual gratification?

_ it’s all about power, _ Crow concluded, lifting his hand to his mask,  _ maintaining ‘godhood’ over his victims. _

“God, this bastard makes me so frickin’ sick!” Skull spat. 

“Hey,” Crow said, “How do you guys feel about iconoclasm?”

“In ico-wha?” Panther asked. 

“Iconoclasm,” Crow repeated, and tore off his mask with a rush of  _ power _ and  _ aggression _ , a savage smile spreading across his face as Loki lurched into existence with a splutter of black fire and a throaty, demonic laugh. The other Phantom Thieves quickly shuffled back to accommodate the Persona’s presence, and Loki idly swung its smouldering blade, knocking over a pew and setting it ablaze. 

“It’s the destruction of icons for religious or political reasons,” Crow explained serenely, and pointed at the statue, “To put it simply.”

“Oh, I get ya!” Skull’s tone was mean, “In which case -  _ Captain Kidd!” _

“Hey, don’t start without me!  _ Carmen!” _

“If you guys are doing it, so am I!  _ Zorro!” _

All four Persona hungrily stared at the statue, and Crow, arm still outstretched, curled his hand into a first, his thumb pointing upwards. 

“Ready~?” he purred, his voice lilting with cruel glee. He jabbed his thumb downwards, “ _ Fuck it up!” _

Their voices rose together as a roar, a mixture of commands as the Persona launched their vandalising attacks on the statue. In a flare of lightning, fire, cutting wind and cursed flames, King Kamoshida’s divine statue was reduced to charred rubble, Loki contemptuously stomping on the dusty remains with its hoof. 

“And that’s what we think of you!” Panther screamed, panting hard. Her attack had been the most vicious out of all of them. 

“Hell yeah! That felt good!” Skull laughed, planting his hands on his hips and proudly surveying their handiwork, “God? More like, uh, a washed up nobody!” 

“That was pretty fun,” Mona admitted, “Though, I’m not sure what effect this might have on the Pala-”

A high pitched siren suddenly cut through the church.

“Hmm,” Crow drew out, all of them pivoting to face the main hall of the church. The pews were now merrily burning away from Loki’s accidental arson earlier, “Looks like we alerted security.”

“Oops~” Panther said with a cheeky little wink. 

“The Shadows will be more on guard now,” Mona warned. 

“I see… so  _ you’re _ the ones who tampered with the library!”

The ground rippled before them, and in a burst of pinkish flames, the gold-plated armour of the Guard Captain rose from the floor. He towered over them, sword and shield in hand, the eyeholes of his helmet burning with righteous fury. 

“It seems my time waiting has paid off!” Guard Captain declared pompously, “Just as that ape there said, this place is a holy ground for our great King Kamo-”

“Were you hiding in the floor this whole time?” Crow asked curiously. 

There was an awkward pause. Somewhere behind the Shadow, the noise of crackling fire snapped through the silence. 

“I- it was  _ not _ hiding,” Guard Captain blustered, “I spied on you interlopers and set out an ambush! Which succeeded! You are backed against King Kamoshida’s altar, ready to be sacrificed upon it!”

“As if we’ll let you do that!” Skull snapped, “Your ‘god’ is nothing but a pervy old man!”

“Yeah!” Panther snarled, “There’s nothing  _ great _ about him! Just watch, we’ll steal his Treasure and burn this Palace to the ground!”

_ “Literally,” _ Crow smiled, all teeth. 

“Y-You…!” Guard Captain spluttered, shaking- except, he  _ wasn’t  _ shaking- his form was losing shape, that split second moment where a Shadow revealed its true form. 

“Here it comes!” Mona yelled. 

The Guard Captain’s form splayed apart, and a towering, armoured angel rose from its slimy corpse. It loomed over them, almost as tall as the statue they destroyed, its crimson wings flared outwards and catching the light - metallic feathers, with edges so razor fine Crow knew they would cut at the gentlest of touches. Its face was frozen in a marble snarl, its glowing eyes burning with condemnation and disgust. 

An avenging angel, ready to dispense justice. 

_ the only justice that matters here is mine! _ Goro mentally snarled, quickly shifting into battle formation with the rest of the Phantom Thieves. 

**“YOU WILL PAY FOR FOOLISHLY DEFYING KING KAMOSHIDA…”** The Heavenly Punisher roared, its voice thundering through the eaves of the church, like the voice of God himself,  **“...WITH YOUR LIVES!”**

“I knew this would happen!” Mona groaned, already leaping into the role of Navigator, “Be careful! I’m sensing a huge build up of energy!”

“Charging up, huh? What a dangerous boy,” Crow purred, “Alright: brace yourselves, everyone! Then counterattack once you tank the hit! Mona, Panther, prepare to be on healing duty if it gets tough!”

He heard a chorus of acknowledgements, and Crow summoned Loki, his Persona already braced for impact. His pulse picked up, excitement and the thrill of battle already sharpening his focus to a fine edge. There was something so  _ viscerally satisfying _ being the centre of a synchronised team - he didn’t have to look to know Skull would be at his right shoulder, ready to cover him, Mona was always on his left, and Panther always slightly to the back, ready with her flames or healing magic. 

His back was covered for the first time in his life. 

**“DIE!”** Heavenly Punisher bellowed, and went straight for Crow. 

The angel’s sword swung down with punishing force - only for the blade to be caught against Loki’s, the Persona straining against the blow. Crow grunted, feeling his knees buckle as the force of impact slammed through him - anything the Persona felt, the user did too, he discovered the hard way - but he endured. Skull steadied him with a hand on his bicep, and over the sound of blades screeching against each other- 

_ “Agi!” “Garu!” _

The combination of wind and fire generated a localised firestorm that slammed right into the angel’s left wing. Heavenly Punisher roared in pain and disengaged from the sword lock with Loki, and Crow let Skull lead the counterattack as he caught his breath. Even when guarding, he had felt that blow right down to his bone marrow. 

“You good, Crow?” Panther yelled over to him, another fireball sailing overhead. 

“Fine!” Crow barked, shaking his head and straightening up again. Back to it. 

It became quickly apparent that this Shadow wasn’t like the run of the mill enemies they encountered in the Palace hallways. The Shadow absorbed their blows with snarls and shouts of fury, but it endured. Even strike from its sword threatened to knock them unconscious from the sheer  _ force _ of it, even with Persona tanking the hit, and it deftly evaded their counterattacks by flying high above them, taking advantage of the church’s vaulted ceiling to stay out of reach. Even their magic had a limit to its range. 

“Argh! This asshole’s pissing me off!” Skull roared, shaking his pipe at the angel flying overhead, “Stay down here, you coward!”

“This isn’t working!” Mona groaned, “It can catch its breath by flying up there, while we’re flagging!” 

Crow clenched his door, fury simmering in him. 

“What if we- what if we stand our Persona on top of each other!” Panther suggested, “Loki’s pretty tall! It can stand on Captain Kidd’s shoulders-”

“Are you crazy!?” Skull snorted, “That won’t work!”

“What I need,” Crow growled, “Is a bow and arrow.”

But any further discussion was interrupted when the angel swooped down again, sword raised high. They scattered to avoid its strike, Goro rolling through the hot ashes that remained of the pews - and froze when he heard a cry of pain- 

“No! Lady Ann!” Mona cried. 

“Shit!” Skull yelped, “She’s knocked out!”

_ damn it! _

“ _ LOKI!” _ Crow roared, and his Persona surged forwards with an enraged roar - but too late. The angel once more flew high above them, Loki’s sword swinging harmlessly into thin air. Crow let out a scream of frustration, and his Persona agitatedly stomped its hooves and paced, aware of its uselessness and hating it. 

_ DO YOU SEE NOW? _

Crow ignored his pacing Persona, running over to where Panther was lying prone on the ground. Skull was fumbling with his pocket, trying to find a revival item, while Mona fluctuated between hissing at the angel above them, and fussing with Panther. 

“Is she alright?” Crow demanded. 

“She’s unconscious, but, Crow, we can’t take any more hits!” Mona reported, “We have to retreat!”

Crow stared at Panther, a familiar, creeping feeling of helplessness crawling through his guts. Even with Loki, it seemed he was useless when it came to protecting people. His Persona was fury and vindication, but it only knew how to attack and crush with single-minded brute force. Anything else… 

_ SELFISH VENGEANCE WILL ONLY GET YOU SO FAR.  _

“Crow!” Mona said. 

“We can’t retreat,” Crow said, as Skull managed to rouse Panther into dazed consciousness, “I refuse to lose.”

“But-”

“We have to push through anyway,” Skull said grimly, “There’s no way else past here.”

Crow looked up at the angel, where it was once more charging power. Something in him was burning hot, hotter than Loki’s awakening - that had been born from fear and hatred and the desire to crush Kamoshida into the dirt, to erase that dismissive, superior look from existence. Now… now he was… 

_ I WANT TO PROTECT… _

They may not know each other well, and Goro was still learning the ins and outs of friendship and leaning on others, but the Phantom Thieves were  _ his. _ Ann, Ryuji and Mona were  _ his _ friends, and he greedily clung to that strange yet terrifying yet addictive knowledge that these people had his back, that they closed ranks with him and were willing to follow him into this insane place, that they, miraculously, bizarre,  _ insanely _ accepted him. They were  _ his, _ and  _ his, _ and  **_his,_ ** and he  _ refused _ to let anyone take them away from him-!

_ I WANT TO PROTECT WHAT IS  _ **_MINE!_ **

Crow took a few steps forwards, his gaze fixed on the creature that thought it could steal from  _ him. _

_ NO LAW OR AUTHORITY WILL BIND ME FROM THIS! _

Loki was gone. There was a strange absence where it had been, something inside of him shifting, the scales tipping further to one side. There was rage in him, anger, yes, but it had a different shape, a different heat, a different  _ edge. _ It wasn’t the scorching blade of judgement, severing a sinner’s link to the mortal coil. It was- 

_**FOR I WILL COMMIT TREASON TO PROTECT MY OWN!** _

Goro tore off his mask. It had a different shape against his palm, before it crumbled into fiery ash, a new yet familiar name leaping to his lips as he roared: 

_ “ROBIN HOOD!” _

And a  _ new _ Persona rose from the depths of his furious soul. He felt the flush of power - but unlike Loki, there was no red-tinged haze accompanying the rush, making it difficult to think, making him want to charge ahead and claw and beat at his enemy until all he could taste was copper. This power was accompanied by  _ grim determination, _ steady and unyielding, and in his hands was a dark, simple bow, beautifully curved and perfectly balanced.

Behind him, he heard his friends’ surprised shouts, but Crow was focused upwards, at the angel preparing for another hit and run. 

“See you in hell,” he purred, lining up the shot and  _ knowing _ his Persona was doing the same behind him, both of them perfectly synchronised, “Save me a coffin.”

His arrow was loosed - and so was Robin Hood’s. 

The angel was struck in mid-dive, and the Shadow let out a startled cry as its left wing was violently torn from its body. Clumsily, like a stone, the angel plummeted, striking the earth with the  _ crnnnch _ of gristle and bone. 

“ _ Attack him!” _ Crow roared, and luckily, his friends - including Panther - leapt at his command. 

With the angel grounded and dazed, it was child’s play to slaughter it. Once the dust settled, Crow took a moment to admire himself. His outfit had  _ simplified _ into something duller and more practical: a long-sleeved hunting coat with a leather corset keeping his figure trim, archery greaves overlaying the sleeves. The only dramatic change was his cape becoming more feathered and frayed, and his mask was no longer a helmeted visor, but a simple mask of black, the nose long and pointed like a crow’s. 

“This is so unfair…” Panther said after everyone finished absorbing Crow’s new look,  _ “You _ get a costume change?! What about  _ me?” _

“I didn’t consciously do this,” Crow said, gesturing vaguely to himself. 

“I didn’t know you could have two Persona,” Skull said thoughtfully, “Hey, Mona, you kept quiet about that!”

“I-I didn’t know!” Mona protested, “This is… highly unusual.”

_ so what, i’m a freak? _ Crow thought irritably. 

“This just shows how special you are, Crow!” Mona continued, “Two Persona… can you switch between them?”

“Hold on,” Crow thought about Loki, grasped for that bubbling, thorny rage- and flinched when blue flames swept over him, returning him to his dark knight-style armour, the bow transforming into that crimson sword. 

“Whoa!” Skull clapped, “That was cool! You’re amazin’, Crow!”

“So unfaaaaaair…” Panther whined, “I want a cool costume change toooooo…”

“This is great!” Mona cheered, “You’ve got  _ two _ Persona now! Is there anything you can’t do, Crow?” 

Okay, the praise was nice. It was  _ really _ nice. Crow couldn’t help but smile, something warm and bashful rising in him. He hurriedly squelched it though, before his friends thought he was soft, and turned away to hide his expression. It was harder to keep hold of Loki like this. 

“Come on, stop fawning,” he said gruffly, “We’ve got a pervert to beat up, remember?” 

“Aw, are you  _ blushing?” _ Panther teased, and the next thing he knew, his friend was leaning on his shoulder and prodding at his cheek between the sharp edges of his visor, “You are!”

“Can’t take compliments, huh?” Skull grinned on his other side, elbowing him in the ribs despite the armour in the way, “You really are just a big ol’ softie deep down!”

“I see, he’s shy!” Mona added somewhere around his knees, “Oh, wow, you really are red, Crow!”

“This-  _ this is from irritation!” _ Crow burst, quickly breaking free from their grasp and powerwalking forwards, his ears burning, “Stop dawdling! Kamoshida! Kill! Now!”

They laughed at him, but it wasn’t mocking, and it made it hard to feel too embarrassed or angry - such a bizarre, warm feeling. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he selfishly hoarded it, memorised it, and tucked it away deep inside his heart to dwell on later. 

The Phantom Thieves caught up to him and arranged themselves loosely around him - protecting his back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, no Prince outfit Goro - and Robin Hood actually looks different to canon to reflect this, hehe. For Goro's outfit, it's similar to Eileen the Crow from Bloodborne: [here](https://bloodborne.wiki.fextralife.com/file/Bloodborne/Eileen_The_Crow_Concept_Art_Large.jpg?v=1501761821459), and Robin Hood is more true to the mythos rather than Goro's perception of heroism. There's a reason for this. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you liked this~ i know a lot of you were asking for Robin Hood awakening so here ya go! haha


	11. Friendship - Ann+Goro

“I can’t help but feel like a horrible friend, y’know?”

Goro nodded awkwardly, trying not to look entirely out of his depth as Ann sniffled into her sleeve. They were both sitting on a bench at the park, drawing curious looks from passerbys as Ann hiccuped and sniffed in an attempt to hold back her tears. Goro glared at every rubbernecker until they got the hint and hurried along. 

“ _ Ugh, _ and I’m making  _ you _ uncomfortable now!” Ann roughly scrubbed at her wet cheeks before patting them, her eyes squeezed shut, “Get it together, Ann!”

“It’s… fine,” Goro said stiffly, “It’s my fault, anyway.”

“No, it isn’t! You were just being nice asking after Shiho, and then I just- I  _ exploded _ like a volcano of crazy all over you,” Ann harrumphed, tipping from grief into anger. Not directed at Goro, but inwards, that insidious frustration that hooked its claws deep and made you hate yourself more and more the longer it stayed. 

Goro knew it intimately, enough so that he refused to let Ann mire herself in it. 

“You’re not a horrible friend,” he said, “Not about the Shiho thing.”

“Oh, so I’m a horrible friend in other things, huh?” But Ann was smiling now, a thin, wobbly line that was leagues better than her crying face.

A moment of silence lulled between them. Ann wiped away her smudged mascara with the back of her knuckles, the tip of her nose red and her wet cheeks flushed. Goro dug into his coat pocket and took out the KitKat he had been saving for later.

“Shiho’s suffered so much…” Ann mumbled, her hand lowering from her face, “And I can’t imagine what she went through, to feel like she had to- I want her to get better, to feel better but, sometimes, when I think about it, I feel so angry, y’know? At myself, at Kamoshida, at  _ her _ … I-I just think, ‘how could you do that to me? How could you think to leave me behind?’ All I’m thinking about is me!”

Goro snapped his KitKat in half and handed her it once he was certain she finished her vent, and said, quite matter-of-fact; “Suicide is a selfish act.” 

Ann paused, her gifted KitKat halfway to her mouth, “Huh?”

“Suicide is a selfish act,” Goro repeated, “It’s normal to feel angry at Shiho for it.”

“But…” Ann struggled for a few moments, “I mean, it’s not fair to her.”

“Probably not, but you can still be angry about it,” Goro bit his own KitKat in half, letting Ann mull over that as he chewed and swallowed; “You’re not lashing out at her about it, so it’s fine.”

Ann looked like she didn’t know what to think about that. 

They ate their KitKat in silence, and Goro played with the wrapper for a bit as he thought things over. Truthfully, the situation hit so close to home he wanted nothing to do with it, but at the same time, the Phantom Thieves were the first friends he ever managed to make, and he greedily wanted to keep them close and never let go. Friendship, however, was emotionally transactional, and Goro had never learned the currency of positive social interaction growing up. 

He twisted the wrapper up tight into a tiny foil ball. 

“I understand how you feel,” Goro murmured, so softly it was barely louder than an exhale, “In a way.”

But the scenario was all different but the same. Ann had wilfully ignored all the signs, thinking (hoping) things weren’t as bad as they were until it had shattered to pieces when the pressure point gave way. When Shiho had made her decision, Ann had been physically unable to help, had watched, had immediately launched into a red-hazed mission to get revenge for her. 

Goro’s scenario… he had wilfully ignored all the signs, thinking (hoping) things hadn’t been as bad as they were, until it had culminated in that terrifying breakdown. His mind instantly shied from the memory before it resolved, as it always did, and an awful twinge shot through his stomach - a phantom pain of an injury long since healed and scarred over from that day. 

“Goro?”

He jolted, and realised he had lapsed into a dark, cold silence. Ann was looking at him in open concern. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, and stood up from the bench, “Come on. My legs are cramping up from sitting down too long.” 

“Um, okay.”

They walked in silence for a bit. Goro kept his hands crammed deep into his pockets, berating himself for making things awkward. The only terrible friend around here was him.

“Hey, Goro,” Ann broke the silence, her voice careful, “Um, thanks for listening to me. About Shiho, I mean. If you ever want to, y’know, do the same…”

“Talk about Suzui?” Goro asked, deliberately misunderstanding. 

“You know what I mean,” Ann huffed, not playing along, “If you have something to get off your chest, I’ll listen. I don’t know if I can give good advice but, I mean, it really helped when you listened to me. So, um, it might be the same for you.”

Goro teetered, wary and uncertain of the offer. It was genuine, and he didn’t think Ann would betray him if he did open up to her, but old habits were hard to stamp out. The idea of sharing something so vulnerable and fragile made him want to tear his own skin off and set it on fire; something deep inside of him convulsing with angry defensiveness. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want anyone to listen. He was going to smother these feelings and thoughts inside of him until he died, and that was that. 

“...thanks,” he muttered, “But I’m okay.”

“You’re such a porcupine,” Ann sighed, “You’ve got a soft underbelly, but you curl up into a prickly ball way too fast.”

Goro stared at her, a bit confused on where  _ that _ came from, “What?”

Ann was smiling, a little wryly, a little fondly, “You. You’re a bit of a jerk at times, but you’re sweet when you’re trying to be kind in your own awkward way. But the second one of  _ us _ tries to be nice to you, you just shut us out.”

Goro said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say to that. 

Ann stopped and turned to him, and he reluctantly did the same, facing her with hunched shoulders and his chin tucked close to his chest - on the defensive. 

“We’re a team, remember?” Ann said earnestly, “We’re not just helping each other take down scummy adults - we’re also friends. So, um, try to rely on us a little more, okay? We want to help.”

Goro squirmed in place. He couldn’t put a name to this strange, discomforting feeling inside of him - it wasn’t wholly negative, but it wasn’t positive either. It was- a cousin to that whole ‘tear off my skin and set it on fire’ urge, a dash of vulnerability that made him feel too exposed beneath Ann’s genuineness. 

“I’ll think about it,” he compromised, knowing Ann wouldn’t accept a straight ‘no’. 

“I guess that’s all I can ask for right now,” Ann said, looking like she had expected that. But she was still smiling, she didn’t seem too disappointed in him or like she was harbouring thoughts of him being a shitty friend, and she playfully patted his elbow to urge them to start walking again. 

“Anyway, with that out of the way!” Ann continued cheerily, “We should go get crepes! Or cakes! Or ice cream! A bit of sugar really helps with low moods!”

“I don’t like sweets.”

“That is a bold-faced lie and you know it. You always have KitKats on you!”

“They’re for when you guys get upset.”

“Goro, you can’t solve every emotional crisis with chocolate…” 

“Watch me,” Goro said, just to be a little shit, and smiled when Ann shoved his shoulder lightly. 

* * *

Later that night, when he was lying in bed with Mona snuggled up in the crook of his neck, snoring into his shoulder, Goro thought about Ann’s offer. 

He even got as far as picking up his phone, staring at his contact list. There were the Phantom Thieves, of course, Ann, Ryuji, Makoto and Yusuke, and there were also the adults he made deals with - but they weren’t people to open his heart to. He didn’t want to talk to any adults, and the only people he really trusted were the Phantom Thieves, but to open up to one or all of them… 

Goro’s gaze lingered on one name: Kurusu Akira. That unfairly handsome Detective Prince who he loathed with every fibre of his being - or, okay, that was an exaggeration. He had a crush on him and hated him for it, which was insane and weird, he knew that. Definitely not someone to talk to about… anything vulnerable at all. 

_ he’s the enemy, _ Goro told himself,  _ an unfortunately attractive enemy who i want to push off a cliff.  _

He sighed and locked his phone, resting it on his chest. No, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not the Phantom Thieves, not Mona,  _ definitely _ not the adults, and Akira? Forget it. The bastard would weaponise anything he’d say and use it against him. 

It was easier to just bottle it up. At least that pain was comfortable and predictable - and less likely to end up in another betrayal. 


	12. Interrogation Room - Akira + Goro

“Surprise!” Akira chirped, in the most obvious betrayal of all time. 

Goro said nothing. His flinty stare didn’t waver as Akira sashayed over the prone body of the policemen to stop directly opposite him. The steel interrogation room table made a poor barrier against the looming threat of the pistol held tight in Akira’s tense grip. 

“Come on, not even a shocked gasp?” Akira complained, his showman’s smile downturning into a pout, “Goro, you’re never this boring.”

“I saw it coming,” Goro said tersely. At Akira’s obvious displeasure at this response, he let himself smile a mean little smile, his head tipping lazily to indicate the death grip his soon-to-be murderer was throttling the pistol with, “Nervous, Kurusu?”

Akira’s smile froze, the moment wrenching violently taut. 

“Nervous,” Akira repeated, his smile widening into something less Cheshire, more Mad Hatter, “Goro, I’m _never_ nervous.”

The pistol lifted, the barrel gently brushing aside Goro’s hair from his forehead, before letting it rest there, metal to skin. It was cold, and Goro felt his pulse rocket up. He didn’t let his expression waver, his glare locked against Akira’s. 

“Despite saying you never trusted me,” Akira began smugly, “You did, didn’t you? Why are you here, otherwise? You expect me to have a change of heart myself? You think I’m going to develop a conscience in the next sixty seconds before I shoot you? You think I’m _too nervous_ to do this?”

Goro never trusted his fellow man to ever do the right thing - even with the Phantom Thieves, his comrades-in-arms, he expected a level of thoughtless selfishness when things came down to the wire. But in that moment, with only a metal table separating him and Akira, and nothing separating him and the pistol pressed against his forehead, Goro abruptly found himself hoping, shamefully, embarrassingly, that Akira really did dig deep and find that tiny spark of goodness Goro glimpsed in him from time to time. He was willing to believe in Akira’s best if it meant Goro kept breathing. 

“I think,” Goro said, his voice rasping a little as he maintained eye contact, “You’d be incredibly bored without me.”

Akira laughed, a harsh, ugly little noise, and leaned in a little. His hand pressed against the table for balance, and maybe it was the strange lighting of the interrogation room, or maybe it was because of all the drugs Goro was still kinda high off of, but Akira’s eyes glittered red in that moment. 

“I’ll find some other passing amusement to tide me over,” Akira whispered huskily, “You never were anything special, outside of this moment.”

“For a snake,” Goro muttered, “You’re an awful liar.”

Akira’s demented smile twitched, “Lying. You think I’m _lying?”_

The barrel of the pistol dug into his forehead, enough to hurt, enough for Goro to feel the rim of the barrel’s hole where the bullet would fly from when Akira applied pressure to the trigger. The sensation of it was enough to quicken his breathing, adrenaline thrumming even as he fought to stay still, to stay blank-faced, his gaze not wavering from Akira’s crazed, too-bright eyes. 

“If you didn’t care,” Goro said, not daring to blink and ignoring how his eyes stung from it, “You wouldn’t be monologuing at me like this. You’re a vain jackass, but you’re not _completely_ stupid. You would’ve just shot me. The longer you’re here, the higher your chances are at getting caught.” 

Akira said nothing, but he didn’t pull the trigger. 

Good, he had his attention. Now for the hard part. 

“I want to make a deal with you,” Goro said with as much confidence as he could muster. 

“A deal,” Akira repeated, “Goro, you have nothing to negotiate with.”

“I do,” Goro could feel a bead of sweat roll down from his temple. It itched as it crawled down his cheek, “Myself.”

“Get to the point,” Akira said, “As you said, I don’t have much time before someone _catches us.”_

“If you shoot me here, that’s- the end of our game,” Goro said, and the speech and plan he had memorised was falling apart in his hands now that he was at this pivotal moment. He was in pain, his brain was fogged from all those fucking drugs, and that animalistic fear of death was scrabbling at his nerves hard enough that he was fumbling his words. Still, he couldn’t afford to falter, from fear or anything else. Fucking- get a grip, Goro. If you don’t, you’re gonna have a new fatal breathing hole in your forehead! 

“Our game will end,” Goro repeated, silently tapping his heel against the floor anxiously, “And shooting me here is a bit lame, isn’t it? I mean, I already knew you were going to do this. You only caught me because I _let_ you catch me.”

 _“That’s_ what you’re going with?” Akira drawled, but he still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“We didn’t steal Sae’s treasure,” Goro continued, “Her Palace still exists.”

Akira looked puzzled at this non-sequitur, his eyebrows drawing together as his visible confusion made him look more human again. The pistol dropped the barest of fraction, aiming more towards at the bridge of Goro’s nose than his forehead, “What’s that got to-”

He stopped, his face going blank. 

“...before I came in…” Akira muttered, his eyes narrowing sharply, “Sae-san showed me her phone and I felt- are we in _her Palace?”_

“Yes,” Goro admitted. 

“Are you even the _real_ Goro or a cognition?” Akira demanded, the first cracks of composure shining through when he realised that he actually had been tricked - been led to believe he might have pulled one over Goro, only to realise that in fact, he had been a few steps behind. How humiliated he must feel. His poor, fragile pride. 

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Goro unwisely goaded. 

Akira stared at him, the pistol wavering. 

“My deal’s this,” Goro said, fighting to get back on track, “Remember our little ‘match’ in Mementos? This time we’re going to redo it, right to the end, in Shido’s Palace.”

Akira flinched, something flickering in his gaze. He still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“I know Shido will have pulled strings to have my death faked somehow, probably have everyone believe I committed suicide in custody or whatever,” Goro continued, unable to stop the bitterness in his voice, “So, if you let me go, let my death be faked, we’ll meet in Shido’s Palace two weeks from now, and finish this between us.”

Akira stared. 

“Goro,” he finally said, “That is a batshit insane deal and I’d be an idiot to agree to it.”

But he still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re an idiot then, isn’t it?” Goro said flippantly. 

Akira’s gaze went heavy-lidded. 

Still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

“This isn’t fun when you’re drugged up like this,” Akira finally said, after a long, taut pause where he stared right into his very soul, “It isn’t satisfying _at all._ You’re too high to be terrified, or properly defiant. This is all _tainted._ I wanted you to be…”

Goro said nothing. 

Still hadn’t pulled the trigger. 

Akira- 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


-lowered his pistol. 

“Fine,” Akira murmured, his voice too soft and low to divine its tone, “I agree to your deal.” 

Goro exhaled, feeling like all the air had been punched right out of him. He was fairly certain his hands were shaking, hidden underneath the table, but he still kept his expression straight as he said; “Good.” 

“Well, since we’re in Sae-san’s Palace, you can just… walk on out of here, hm?” Akira crooned, dropping the pistol on the ground like it was a piece of worthless trash. It clattered somewhere out of view, “I’ll leave you to it, though I doubt you’ll get far with your injuries and drugged up state. Try not to die, though. I’ll be annoyed if you don’t make it to our _duel_ in two weeks because you dropped dead from a ruptured spleen.” 

And with one last, intense and unreadable look, Akira left him behind, leaving the interrogation room’s door wide open. It had worked. The plan went completely tits up and wrong, and Goro had somehow talked his way out of getting shot in the head from the whole thing going into shambles because Akira was a _dumbass_ and so fucking _predictable-_

“Holy shit,” he said, and his voice was shaking and breathless and he was fairly certain he was two shuddering breaths away from bursting into tears - but he boxed that up, not yet, not yet, and eased himself out of his chair on aching, beaten up legs. 

It isn’t over yet. He had to get out of Sae’s Palace, or at least out of this fucking _room,_ and hope one of the Phantom Thieves were loitering nearby to drag him out of the Metaverse. Before he died of internal bleeding, or Akira got second thoughts and came back to snap his neck or whatever. 

So, Goro limped out of the interrogation room. Everything was swaying and greying out, and in the hallway, the geometry of everything was a little bit _off._ Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to know - hmm, something isn’t right here. Definitely a Palace. So Goro’s bluff had been true _thank fuck._

“Oh, god, fuck… shit…” he muttered to himself, keenly aware he was dangerously close to slipping into shock or a mental breakdown. None of those right now, please, he needed to not die right now, thank you, god. 

He barely remembered his journey. He got out of the police station - luckily it wasn’t staffed by hostile Shadows - and when he staggered outside, he could see Sae’s Palace in the close distance, still bright and gaudy and flashing lights. Metaverse physics was weird, he found. Things were too close or too far away, and Goro stood and stared at the Palace for too long, swaying in place, unsure on how to feel that there was no one here to meet him. 

“Well then,” he said, and sat down on the floor. 

Actually, it was more a controlled collapse. He landed on his ass, then leaned back until he was splayed out on his back, staring at the weird sky - streaks of undulating purple and pinks and greens and reds. Weird colours. Or maybe those were the drugs. Unknown drugs. No idea what they shot him full of. Cocaine? No, you snorted that. Heroin? 

“Crow?! Answer me!”

He blinked- no, opened his eyes, and Queen and Mona were leaning over him. Metaverse versions. Ah. 

“Hello,” he slurred. 

“Crow!” Mona cried, his tiny paws patting at his cheeks, “You’re alive!”

Queen visibly sighed in relief, “He is. Crow, are you okay? I’m sorry, I- the plan didn’t work out and, when we didn’t hear anything...”

“M’okay,” Goro said, “Akira’s a dumbass and- yeah. So. I think I have internal bleeding.”

Even behind the mask, he could see Queen’s expression going blank. 

“Internal bleeding,” she repeated, and her eyes shifted, no doubt taking in the bruises on his face. At least, he assumed it was bruised. His jaw felt swollen and blinking hurt. He got whacked right in the face in retaliation for smashing a chair over one of the interrogators’ heads (worth it). 

“Cops beat the shit out of me,” Goro said blithely. 

“And my sister saw this and…” Queen stopped and shook her head, her jaw clenched in visible anger, “Okay. Later. I’m going to pick you up in a fireman’s carry. It might hurt, but I want you to endure it, okay, Crow? I’ll take you to Takemi’s.”

“We’ve got you, Crow,” Mona said, as Queen shifted to haul him up, “We’ll look after you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Goro muttered, and bit his bottom lip to stifle a scream when Queen pulled him up and over her shoulder into a carry. Her shoulder pressed against his stomach, igniting bolts of pain, but at that point his body quite simply Had Enough Of This Shit and mercifully knocked him the fuck out. 

_jesus christ, thank god,_ was his last thought before unconsciousness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, interrogation room makes no sense in canon so i am free to make this dumb as shit as well. akira is a prideful dumbass who actually is very reluctant to kill goro but can't obviously *say* that, but lo, goro gives him an out so he's gonna take it. 
> 
> soon, engine room will be done... soon...


	13. Engine Room

Even when blinded with rage, Akira was, unfortunately, very clever. 

Goro came to this discomforting, and potentially fatal, conclusion when their back-stabbing teammate triggered the bulwark doors in the engine room of Shido’s ship, leaving the Phantom Thieves on one side, and Goro and Akira on the other. After all, it was meant to be a _duel_ , Akira had reminded him in a frenzied, maddened voice. A duel wasn’t a duel when it was eight versus one.

(though, Akira only enforced this after he had failed to bludgeon the Phantom Thieves into submission with his posse of psychotic Shadows, so Goro felt like that was just an excuse. That fight had been more like eight versus fifteen, where Akira counted for five men alone)

So, that was how they ended up where they were now: just Goro and Akira, heaving for breath and glaring viciously at each other, as the rest of the Phantom Thieves shouted for them behind several feet worth of solid cognitive steel.

Akira smiled, a vicious showman’s smile who knows he’s about to get the audience eating out of his hand, “Alone at last. Not so tough without your meatshield friends, are you?”

Goro grunted, flexing his fingers around his sword as Robin Hood stirred, close to the surface, “I don’t need them to kick your ass.”

“No?” Akira cracked his neck, his eyes heavy-lidded as he sized Goro up. He was clearly ragged and exhausted, Akira’s coattails torn from where he narrowly avoided the slashes of Yusuke’s persona, and his cuffs singed where Ann had almost set him alight. Goro’s friends had been extra vicious towards Akira, overprotective and eager to extract vengeance for the interrogation room, and his metaverse outfit took the brunt of it.

“I’ve spent two years doing this shit,” Akira murmured, dropping the act at last. No showman’s smile, no Cheshire grin, just a heavy-lidded, bland expression that conveyed utter neutrality, “Infiltrating Palaces, killing Shadows, delving into Mementos… I did it all. By. Myself.”

Akira stepped forwards, his eyes gaining a feverishly bright gleam, even as his expression remained blank. 

“I dedicated _two years of my life_ to this,” Akira repeated, “Building up Shido’s conspiracy, grovelling at his feet, raising him up higher and higher and _higher_ until this point, so that when I _cut him down_ he _shatters_ when he hits the ground.”

Akira’s expression cracked, a flash of rage flickering across it like a shadow, “Then _you_ and your _fucking band of merry men_ come along and fuck everything _up_! Two years! Gone! Two years of this shit for _nothing_!”

“It sounds like you wasted those two years,” Goro observed blandly, “on such a petty revenge scheme too. For a ‘Detective Prince’, you’re not too bright, Joker.”

Akira laughed, a furious, vicious noise that sounded half a breath away from turning into a frenzied scream. 

“Oh. You- _you-!”_ Akira’s breathing shuddered, and for one amazed moment, Goro wondered if he actually rendered the unflappable Detective Prince speechless through sheer rage alone, “ _I’m going to_ **_break you.”_ **

“Oh dear,” Goro purred, “Did I hit a _nerve,_ darling?”

Akira _shrieked._

It was abrupt and violent, Goro evading to his left as Arsene flared into being with raucous, furious laughter. Cursed flames slammed into where he had been, acrid smelling and scorching hot, and Goro felt his thoughts sharpen and focus. He snatched a hand over his mask, tearing it off as he roared, low and guttural; _“LOKI!”_

Their two Persona clashed between them, swirls of cursed flame sparking as Loki’s blade was caught between Arsene’s palms. They strained against each other for a few taut seconds - for the stalemate to break when Arsene lashed out with its foot, driving its _literal stiletto heel_ into the meat of Loki’s thigh. 

Goro yelled, his leg buckling from the sympathetic pain. Loki reeled with a pained howl, Arsene pressing the advantage- glint of metal, and Goro hit the ground and rolled when Akira leapt through the cursed flames to slash at him with his daggers. He was lightning quick, relentless, more agile than Goro in his clunky knight’s armour and lengthy longsword - in close quarters like this, it was a hindrance. 

_“Fuck!”_ Goro snarled, swinging wide to chase Akira back several steps, and rapidly switched Persona; _“ROBIN HOOD!”_

“What’s a _bow_ going to do?!” Akira taunted, already charging in as Goro’s Metaverse outfit switched from knight’s armour to the light leathers of hunter garb, his sword shifting to a recurve bow, “You’re _outmatched,_ Crow!”

Goro just snarled out a frustrated noise, nimbly evading Akira’s wild slashes and Arsene’s cursed flames. Robin Hood mimicked him, always at his back, lighter than air, his feathered cape snapping from their rapid movements as he maintained distance, snapping out quick, short-distance attacks with his bow. Akira evaded them all - but he was quickly losing steam. 

“Stop-! Running-! _Away!”_ Akira roared, lunging after him - but always one step behind. 

“Ooooh, yeah, like I’m gonna stay still and let you _shank me!”_ Goro yelled back, “Get real! _ROBIN HOOD!”_

Akira screamed when a dazzling Kougaon erupted right in his face, sending him reeling and staggering, half-blind. Arsene’s wings flapped wildly, cursed flames spewing out in a wide arc, aiming to keep Goro at bay - but he had a _bow,_ fucker. Goro didn’t need to be close. 

Synchronised with Robin Hood, Goro put an arrow through Arsene’s skull. 

A cry, high and raw, and the cursed flames evaporated. Akira crumpled to the floor on his knees, his daggers on the floor, his hands clutching at his head. Goro knew from experience that getting a headshot on a Persona outright crippled you for a good minute or two. The pain was _nauseating._

Goro didn’t dwell on it. Another switch - Loki - and he advanced on his enemy-friend. Akira looked up at him just as he levelled his sword at his head.

“It’s over,” Goro said, breathless but flush with satisfaction, “I’ve won our duel, Joker. Now yield, unless you want me to break your legs to make sure you _stay down.”_

“You think it’s _that easy?”_ Akira hissed at him. His eyes were glittering with unshed tears, unfocused, with his fingers tangled into his messy hair. His nose was bleeding, “This isn’t-!”

“It’s _over,_ Joker!”

“It isn’t!” Akira snarled, something crazed and bright and _intense_ lighting up his eyes, a crimson glint, insanity, “I’m more- you’re _worthless-!”_

“Bold words from the loser,” Goro growled out, his fingers numb from how tightly he was gripping his sword. Akira was stronger than he had let on, back when he worked with them - no surprise there - and his body was screaming at him for it, aches and pains flaring from pushing himself too hard. He hadn’t moved that fast in his _life._

But he was the victor, in the end. Tenacity and viciousness in spades trumped Akira’s agile combat style in the end. 

Akira’s expression was raw and ugly. His gaze was focusing, enough to level a frustrated glare at him, tears clinging to his eyelashes, and Goro thought, _ah, that look suits you._

But he squelched that dark, purring side of him. Akira was- he inspired so many ugly, vicious parts of him, made him want to shatter Akira’s mask and spill his emotional innards over the floor for Goro to caress and tear apart at his leisure - and he’s done that. He’s _done that._ Akira was at his most honest, and it was both a terrifying and beautiful sight. 

Without realising, Goro found himself smiling. 

“Don’t you look down at me,” Akira seethed, and with violent jerks of his limbs, heaved himself back to his feet, his daggers left forgotten on the floor; “Stop _looking at me like that!”_

Goro could’ve stopped him, but he didn’t. He stepped back once, twice, giving his rival - enemy - friend room, and lifted his sword an inch higher, bracing himself as he felt his smile widen. 

“Look at you like what?” Goro goaded, “Like you’re nothing more than a joke? I’ve always been laughing at you, _Joker.”_

Akira said nothing. He stared at him, a madness to his eyes, his mouth caught in a bizarre half-smile, half-grimace. He was falling apart by the seams, and Goro got to witness every millisecond of it. 

“You were... meant to be like me,” Akira rasped, and he reached out with an empty hand. There was something awfully tragic about the sight, longing and wretched, “You were meant to be _like me,_ but you’re just…”

The outreached hand clenched, hard, into a fist. 

“You’re just _trash,”_ Akira snarled, his face transformed, “Worthless trash, like all the others. You’re beneath me, you don’t- get to look at me like that anymore- so stop it, stop it, _stop looking at me like_ **_that_** _-”_

And reality flickered. Another image superimposed over Akira, a flicker of someone else, a flat, empty mask over his furious face, and Goro found himself recoiling in surprise. The air felt electrified now, faint wisps of black smoke swirling in the space between them. Akira’s eyes were a glittering, crazed crimson. 

“I’ve never used it on myself,” Akira ranted, and he advanced - Goro retreated, some primal instinct screaming that distance was very vital to his continued existence, “Short-sighted of me, really, so I wonder how far I can go with this…”

“What,” Goro snapped, sharply pivoting to the left, to avoid being boxed against the bulwark door, “are you _talking about-_ ”

Akira laughed wildly, “You’re not the only one with more than one persona, _Crow!_ How do you think I made people psychotic, huh?”

_shit._

He stopped his aggressive advance, lifting his arms up high as if in benediction, and cried; “ ** _SATANAEL_** _!”_

_double shit!_

Raw power coalesced and _erupted,_ almost knocking Goro right off his feet. He yelped, staggering back several steps, and stared in horrified amazement as Akira _transformed._ His Metaverse outfit changed, shifting from the flashy, dark showman’s coat into something more cloak-like, Victorian, reminding Goro viscerally of _Jack the Ripper_ …

 _“There we go!”_ Akira laughed, giggling at his white mask slipped into place. The front was plain, childish strokes of black painting a smiling face. Dark ink ran down from the eye holes in facsimile tears, the grin stretching grotesquely from ear to ear. It should’ve been ridiculous, it _was_ ridiculous, but Goro just felt chilled at those soulless, empty eyes staring at him, fake painted smile slashing across pure white ceramic.

“I’ll show you,” White Mask breathed, running the clawed fingertips of his gauntlets down the front of his mask, “What despair looks like.”

“No need to be so melodramatic,” Goro snapped, if only to cover for his sudden anxiety. While he wasn’t a navigator on par with Futaba, he could sense enough to understand that Akira’s new look buffed his power to an insane degree. It almost felt like there was a physical _pressure_ coming off him, one that made Goro uneasily backstep and cringe away. 

He pulsed out his navigator senses - the Phantom Thieves were no longer near the bulwark doors, they were… somewhere below? They must be trying to find an alternative route back here - but wherever they were, it was too far to help once this new and improved Akira launched his counterattack. His rival clearly hit a second wind, while Goro was still licking his wounds from their last round. 

“ _Nervous_ , Goro~?” White Mask giggled, sauntering forwards, his heels clicking against the metal floor. His cloak was thick with a high ruffled collar, yet something about it made it hard to discern his movements accurately. The cloth rippled, plumes of ashy smoke wafting around him like a thickening fog - Goro’s head started to hurt, and he internally cursed when he realised this was probably another side effect of Akira’s persona. If it could drive people psychotic, why not have passive illusions to distort an enemy’s perception too?

 _i’m fucked,_ a detached part of Goro’s brain concluded. 

“I’m never nervous,” Goro lied through his teeth, baring them in a savage smile that was more of a snarl, “Just because you had a costume change, doesn’t mean that I-”

White Mask blurred into motion, and Goro had to practically fling himself backwards in the clumsiest evasion roll known to man to avoid an untimely decapitation. 

“ _Shit!”_ Goro yelped, scrambling to his feet and darting to the side when White Mask lunged forwards again, having manifested a demented _scythe out of nowhere_ that whistled and shrieked as it rent through the air with murderous intent.

“ _Doesn’t mean_ **_what_** _, Goro!?”_ White Mask howled after him, dogging him relentlessly with that near inhuman speed, the psychosis pushing his body beyond its physical limits as he wildly swung his scythe like the Grim Reaper manifested, “ _DOESN’T MEAN WHAT, GORO!?”_

“Leave me _alone,_ you fucking _psycho!”_ Goro screamed back, abandoning all pretence of battle and flat out sprinted away from the psychotic White Mask. He couldn’t even pause to switch Persona, to change from his heavy knight’s armour to the nimble hunter’s garb - Akira was too relentless, always just a hair breadth behind him. 

_shit shit shit shit!_ Goro’s mental mantra screamed. 

There was nowhere to go. _There was nowhere to go._ The engine room was huge, but there were no exit routes - not ones open and on ground level at least - so all Goro could do was sprint frantic laps around the room, feeling like a rabbit being mercilessly chased down by a hunting hound. Self-preservation and adrenaline was the only thing keeping him just that _little bit faster_ that a psychotic Akira. 

“You’re _slowing dooooown~!”_ Akira cackled, and Goro heard the whistle-shriek of the scythe just skimming the air behind his nape. 

_do something do something_ ** _do something!!!_** he mentally yelled at himself, trying to think- the Phantom Thieves were too far away, if he stopped for a moment he was going to get several inches of scythe into somewhere very squishy and vulnerable, he couldn’t try to scramble back into the vent because White Mask will be right up his ass within seconds and honestly, getting trapped in a vent with him sounded like something out of a _horror film,_ and- and-

Goro tripped. 

It was wild, clumsy, and he even screamed a little as he did it (a fact he will take to his grave very soon), frantically catching himself on the wall and scrambling back up-

A squeal and the scythe was buried up into the _metal wall_ a mere _inch_ _from his fucking head._ Goro tried not to think about how much brute strength was needed to achieve that, acting on half-panicked instinct while White Mask’s momentum was momentarily stalled, the scythe stuck fast. 

He kneed White Mask right in the dick. 

His would-be murderer howled in agony, and Goro followed through, tackling the bastard with a warcry and sending them both toppling away from the scythe embedded in the wall. White Mask hit the ground first, snarling like a beast, clawed gauntlets scrabbling at Goro’s mask, to blind, to gouge- 

It was all Goro could do to _stay on him._ He snarled back, and soon they were mindlessly tearing and grappling with each other on the floor like a pair of tomcats. Goro’s vision was filled with that obnoxious smiley mask, the ruffles of White Mask’s cloak catching on his jaw, adrenaline fizzling as a battle-heat through his veins that gave him the strength to finally, viciously, claw at the edge of his enemy’s mask and _tear it off-!_

“No!” Akira cried, lurching after the mask as it went flying away, flung wildly from Goro’s grip - but he didn’t get far, yelping when Goro grabbed him hard by the midriff and sent him tumbling flat on his face. A final burst of energy and Goro sat on his back, hands pinning Akira’s flat against the floor, and that was that. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the only sound passing between them being their laboured breathing. 

Less than a foot away, White Mask’s sloppy smile stared emptily at them. 

“You’ve _lost,_ Joker,” Goro rasped, sensing the Phantom Thieves quickly approaching their side of the engine room. He gave them less than ten minutes to get here, “Accept it.”

Akira made a cracked, broken noise into the floor, his body convulsing under him, fingers flexing as he strained futilely against Goro’s unyielding grip, “I _can’t-_ ”

“Give up!” Goro barked, lifting Akira’s hands only to slam them down again. Hard enough to hurt, “You _can’t win_ ! Just- _stop_ , before I really hurt you!”

“Then hurt me!” Akira snarled, thrashing under him. Goro cursed but rode through the violent burst of motion grimly, “I know you want to! Just do it! Do it! Hit me! Beat me! _Kill me!”_

“ _No,_ you stupid- why the fuck would I _kill_ you!?” Goro screamed, wanting to grab Akira by the hair and shake the stupidity out of his head. He never wanted any of that! He wanted to carve that mask off his stupid face and _see him_ and, maybe, watch him cry a little but he didn’t- fuck, this was so _fucked up-_

Akira just laughed at him, a strung out, watery noise. It was somehow infectious, and before he knew it the pair of them were laughing hysterically, tapering off into laboured panting as exhaustion reared its ugly head for them both. 

“You stupid idiot,” Goro whispered, “This is so stupid.”

“I should’ve _won,”_ Akira whined into the unyielding, metal floor, “It was- supposed to be _my turn…!”_

“Shut up,” Goro muttered, tightening his grip around his wrists, “You- fucking hell, I don’t even know where to start. What the _hell_ were you thinking? About this? About- _anything?”_

“I have to- ruin Shido,” Akira squirmed under him, flexing against the bruising grip on his wrists, “You wouldn’t understand-”

“Did you learn _nothing_ about me?!” Goro snarled, abruptly so blindly _furious,_ “I _told you his fucking name_ when I _suspected_ you were White Mask! I wanted you to- I understand better than _anyone_ about wanting to ruin that fucking piece of shit! You could have _asked me-_ ”

“I’m a murderer, remember?” Akira breathed, turning his head enough to give him a twisted, bloodied grin. The blood from his nosebleed turned the gesture into something nightmarish, “Your friends wouldn’t have agreed.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need their approval to do shit,” Goro snapped, “And this whole ‘noble heroes’ crap you think about us has to stop. We’re not heroes. We’re not fucking- Jesus Christ, Joker. You’re a fucking blind _dumbass!_ Two years when you could’ve just _shot the fucker?_ You’re such a fucking _melodramatic moron!”_

Goro paused for breath, his chest heaving as Akira just stared up at him in his awkward position. His twisted grin was gone. He looked completely bewildered and lost. 

“You wasted the past two years on a stupid as shit plan,” Goro told him plainly, “And killed a whole bunch of people for no reason. You’re a fucking idiot.”

“...yes,” Akira said, so quietly Goro almost missed it, “I am.”

“I’m going to let you go,” Goro said, “And we’re going to finish this _together._ If you try to stab me, I’ll be very cross.” 

Akira said nothing. 

Goro loosened his grip, carefully, slowly, watching Akira who watched him back. Then, he completely let go, pushing himself up and backing away a few steps. He kept his hands loose and empty at his sides, not moving as Akira cautiously stood up to face him. The Detective Prince’s bloodied face was a sight, his wide eyes skittering from Goro to his mask sitting mere feet away. 

“Our duel’s over,” Goro said, once he was satisfied Akira wasn’t going to lunge at him in a frothing fury, “I won.”

Akira’s gaze lowered, “And to the victor goes the spoils?”

“At the very least, I think the victor deserves a truce with you,” Goro said sarcastically, “Long enough for us to take down Shido _together._ We’ll steal his heart and let him suffer the fallout from that. It’s a cruel fate, you know.” 

“I thought it was kind,” Akira murmured into his collar. He looked lost, “You carve out all the unwanted, foul parts of them and… they become… good.” 

Goro stared at him in disbelief, “You do realise a change of heart is a psychic lobotomy, right? It’s fucking _awful.”_

Akira just shrugged, his cloak shuffling with the movement. 

Where did that aggressive madness go? Goro wasn’t sure how to handle this bizarre, meek version of Akira. He almost seemed translucent, that oppressive pressure gone - instead it was like he was trying to fold himself up as small as possible, to be unobtrusive and inoffensive. Akira’s gaze kept snapping to his mask on the ground, almost anxiously, obsessively. 

His mask…

Slowly, telegraphing his movement, he moved over to the discarded mask. Akira made an aborted movement, but stopped when Goro glared at him. He bent down and picked it up. Even through his gauntlets, the ceramic of the White Mask was _freezing cold,_ biting, with a sensation of _malice_ oozing from it. Goro almost dropped it to escape the feeling. 

“This is what gives you confidence, isn’t it?” Goro murmured, and attached that malicious _thing_ to his belt. Akira made a quiet noise, “So, you in?”

“To join forces with you?” Akira let out a thin, reedy laugh, “Just like that? You forgive me just like that?”

“I don’t forgive you,” Goro corrected, “No. But I can work with you. That forgiveness shit… we can deal with that _later,_ after Shido.” 

“Later,” Akira echoed. 

“Later,” Goro confirmed, “So, _you in?”_

“You could have killed me,” Akira said, his voice still that strange, quiet listlessness, “You should have killed me. I’m a dangerous threat, a murderer, and I killed two of your friends’ parents.”

“And you’re pretty much going to kill mine as well,” Goro said dryly, “Three out of eight isn’t bad.” 

Akira stared. 

“Do we have a deal?” Goro asked, pitching his voice low and soft, “Akira?”

Something inside of Akira seemed to crumple, like that soft, murmur of his name had shattered the very last thing that had kept him upright. His head bowed and his shoulders slumped, an unsteady, half-sane laugh leaving him. 

“Oh, saying my name like that… that’s _cheating,”_ Akira rasped, “Fine. I… lost. I’ve lost. So, I… yes, we have a deal.”

“Good,” Goro unhooked the mask from his belt and held it out to him, “It’s a deal.”

And this was when the Phantom Thieves burst onto the scene, ready and bristling for combat, to the sight of Goro and Akira joining hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jazz hands
> 
> also featherybagel drew an amazing White Mask! You can find it [here](https://featherybagel.tumblr.com/post/634004816189931520/first-drawing-ive-posted-in-days-and-its-a-swap) and i highly recommend checking it out!


	14. Dawn - Yusuke+Goro Friendship (Sae's Arc)

The morning was dewy, the dawn barely touching the horizon as Goro listened with half an ear to Yusuke waxing eloquent poetics on the sunrise’s beauty. It was just past six in the morning in Inokashira Park, and Goro had been marshalled to help Yusuke in transporting his easel and canvas, as well as his paints, halfway across Tokyo. He had no idea how Yusuke managed to convince him to do this.

"Here! Here is perfect!" Yusuke snapped out, and Goro eagerly set down the easel he'd been hauling around.

"The majesty of dawn, within the urban confines of our city," Yusuke murmured, framing the sky between slender fingers, “It is only in locations such as these, where more than a glimpse can be seen between the towering buildings.”

“Mmr… what’s he rambling about?” Morgana grumbled sleepily from within the warm confines of the Monabag. 

“Art,” Goro mumbled into his scarf. This early into November, the early mornings carried enough of a chill to encourage layers. He slipped his hands into his hoodie’s front pocket, watching with sleepy eyes as Yusuke observed the bruised colours of dawn paint the sky with an unreadable intensity. 

“I have learned to appreciate these transitory moments,” Yusuke said with abrupt solemnity, “No sunrise is ever the same, and to capture it outside of photography will mean people will only ever see the artist’s interpretation of this singular event. What I see is not what you see, and thus, any painting I craft will be tainted by my bias. My art will show them how I viewed the sunrise, not how it would be for them, if they had stood here in my place.”

Goro had a feeling this was no longer about art. 

Yusuke turned to him, “Are you still certain about him?”

“It’s too late to have second thoughts,” Goro said simply. 

Yusuke said nothing. His gaze was even. 

For all Goro teased that Yusuke had no common sense, he was gifted with an insight that many struggled to grasp. Goro looked away from that even stare, up at the sunrise that had painted the sky in dull streaks of orange and pinks. 

“There’s nothing ‘certain’ about him,” Goro admitted, “He’s a snake through and through. But…”

A bird passed overhead. A crow. 

“It’s a gut feeling,” he finished, rolling his shoulders in a casual shrug, “You know my taste in men is shit.”

Yusuke hummed, “Then we must hope your gut feeling is right, and not coloured by what you hope is there.” 

“If I’m wrong,” Goro said dryly, “I give permission for you to say ‘I told you so’ to my coffin.”

“Pointless,” Yusuke dismissed. 

Goro let out a short bark of laughter, and Morgana poked his head out of the Monabag to grumpily ask; “It’s too early to be so happy.”

“Sourpuss,” Goro teased, reaching up to roughly scratch the cat behind his ears. Morgana huffed but leant into the touch.

“It is a shame that he’s planning your murder,” Yusuke said in that blunt way of his as he took up his paints. It seemed the easel and canvas wasn’t just a prop for Yusuke’s metaphor, “You two compliment each other.”

“You think so?” Goro murmured.

“Yes,” Yusuke sighed and shook his head, “When I pondered on how to capture the passion of the heart, my thoughts always turned to you two.”

“If you say ‘star cross’d,” Goro deadpanned. 

Yusuke snorted, “As if I would use such a cliche term! No, your passions aren’t held within easily defined lines. Rivalry, love, anger, betrayal, it holds the spectrum of all passions! It’s rather inspiring, actually. Evocative! Powerful!”

Goro could feel his face start to turn red as Morgana sniggered in his ear, “Who- who said  _ anything _ about love? That’s a bit of a claim considering this asshole, as you said, is  _ planning my murder.” _

“Love and murder are not incompatible,” Yusuke said simply. 

“I don’t love him,” Goro said, feeling himself cringe at even saying that, “And I doubt he loves me.” 

“Hm,” Yusuke said, and it was miraculous how much  _ doubt _ he packed into that short, wordless noise. 

“Just shut up and paint the sunrise, artboy.”

“What a lacklustre insult,” Yusuke commented, obediently turning to his easel, “I will say, your bark has softened considerably since we first met.”

“Yusuke, I almost broke your  _ arm _ when first met.”

“Hmm, yes, that had been an intriguing experience,” Yusuke mused, cupping his chin with his hand, heedless of his paintbrush splashing a splotch of orange against his cheek, “Indeed, it had been that exact moment, where my fight or flight responses had sharpened my senses in mid-throw, that I knew you were my ultimate muse.”

Goro wasn’t sure how one gained artistic inspiration when getting launched over someone’s shoulder (in his defence, he thought Yusuke had been stalking Ann, and so had leapt to her defence with extreme aggression), but so long as he was happy? Maybe? 

“Nothing makes you appreciate the beauty of life, when you fear for your life,” Yusuke elaborated, no doubt sensing Goro’s blank confusion. 

“I worry about you.”

“Thank you.”

Goro sighed fondly, and turned towards the sunrise touching the early morning sky. He watched as it painted the sky in streaks of pink and orange, bringing a weak, shivering light to the park. It was still cold, and dreary, but he supposed it looked kind of nice. It wasn’t worth getting up at the asscrack of dawn to see, though. 

“I appreciate your concern, Yusuke,” Goro admitted to the sky, unable to look directly at his friend, “But I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“The promise holds little weight, when you cannot look me in the eye to make it,” Yusuke dismissed absently, engrossed in his art, “But thank you for your attempt at comfort.”

Goro huffed but accepted the criticism as well deserved. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he retrieved it curiously - and scoffed when a familiar name flashed in his notification. 

“Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Goro said wryly, “Shithead Detective’s messaged me.”

“Leaving, are you?”

Goro read the message  _ (“Come join me for early morning fishing~ xoxo”) _ and felt himself smile. It was strange: Akira was a snake, untrustworthy and an absolute menace. He made his blood boil, his pulse pound and his jaw clench, a hot mix of frustration, anger and  _ want, _ all tangled up in his heartstrings like a burn he could never quench. Yet,  _ yet… _

Maybe it was like Yusuke and his inspiration from his adrenaline spike. Akira was dangerous, and Goro couldn’t help but draw closer to him, repeatedly reaching out to him, agan and again, despite knowing that one day, he’ll find his outstretched hand cleaved off from the attempt. He was intoxicating, intriguing,  _ interesting… _

Akira will be the death of him. 

“Yeah,” Goro sent off a reply and stowed his phone, “I may as well. Our days are numbered, so…”

Yusuke nodded to himself, “Then enjoy your time together. I hope you will find the memories you make worth it.”

From anyone else, those words would sound passive-aggressive - but from Yusuke, they were earnest. Goro eyed him for a moment, but couldn’t find the right words to say. Out of everyone, he supposed Yusuke understood him best, when it came to Akira, and this self-destructive push-pull between them. 

“Good luck with your painting,” he said, and left him behind, the rising sun at his back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk i just like yusuke+goro friendships ok fhhjsj


	15. Vulnerable - Goro/Akira (Post-Engine Room)

Morgana was staring at him judgmentally. 

“What,” Goro gritted out, jabbing harshly at Akira’s piece of shit coffee machine. 

“You know  _ what,” _ Morgana hissed back, trying and failing to pitch his voice low. He was sitting on Akira’s kitchen counter, which really wasn’t hygienic no matter how many times Morgana protested his cleanliness, his dark fur bristling as he sent unsubtle glares into the apartment’s living area. Akira hadn’t moved from where Goro deposited his near comatose ass onto the sofa. 

“He tried to kill us less than an hour ago,” Morgana continued when Goro didn’t say anything, “And now you’re alone with him. In  _ his apartment!” _

“You’re here too,” Goro pointed out, “So, I’m not alone with him.”

Morgana made an irritated noise and the sound of it made Goro smile. He loved rubbing his fur the wrong way. 

“Crow,” Morgana said softly after a long pause, where the coffee machine groaned and whirred and vomited out a black sludge that had Goro turning his nose up in disgust, “I know, I mean- I know you like him and all, but…”

“Let me handle it,” Goro said firmly, “I know how to handle it.”

Morgana gave him a long, hard stare. 

“You’re biased with him,” he finally said. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Goro lied, picking up the shitty instant coffee and walking into Akira’s living area. Morgana silently followed him, trotting at his heels almost protectively. 

A part of Goro felt annoyed Morgana was here - there were things he wanted to say to Akira, unresponsive or not, that couldn’t be said in front of an audience. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing. Goro  _ was _ biased when it came to Akira - hadn’t he told the Phantom Thieves he had him handled all through the year? That he had a plan? That he knew how to deal with him when the time came? And that when the time came, Goro had been, bizarrely, hurt by a betrayal he saw months in advance, and still felt sad, and angry, and insanely amused, at how everything had shaked out. 

_ like mother, like son, _ he thought wryly to himself,  _ i have shit taste in men. _

“Akira,” he said, setting the coffee down on the table and sat, heavily, next to his rival-friend-enemy. Their thighs touched, a hot line of heat that made goosebumps prickle over his skin, “I’ve made you poison.”

Akira stirred out of his apathetic staring, his gaze shifting from the mug of instant coffee to Goro. His expression was blank, his eyes heavy-lidded and tired - no showman’s smile, no Cheshire grins, nothing but Akira, finally.

“You’re still here?” Akira asked. His tone was brittle, like one sharp word would finally finish what Goro had started, in the bowels of Shido’s ship. It’d take little effort to snap Akira in two now. 

Goro didn’t go for it. He smelled weakness, and deftly skirted it, tiredly bumping his knee against Akira’s, “I’m still here.”

“So am I!” Morgana huffed, leaping protectively onto Goro’s lap, giving Akira the stink-eye, “So, don’t try anything funny,  _ White Mask.” _

Akira’s blank gaze shifted from Goro to the cat, “I’ve already tried to murder him. Can’t get any funnier than that.”

Morgana looked like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and Goro gently settled a hand on his spine, easing the cat to lie down across his lap, smoothing his palm over bristling fur. A strange silence lulled between them, Akira turning his head away, his chin tucked close to his chest. Such a defeated posture, from someone Goro was used to being loud and proud, puffing his chest out and tilting his chin challengingly at anything life threw at him. 

A mask, of course. A ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ lie that almost became reality. Goro knew the truth now. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there together in that odd, yet understanding silence. Morgana’s breathing slowed and deepened, his ribs rising and falling beneath his palm, deeply asleep. Goro still stroked his fur, angling his head so he peered at Akira from the corner of his eye. Even when crushed, Akira looked beautiful. 

Maybe even moreso - there was something undeniably attractive about seeing Akira so  _ splayed open. _ He was utterly vulnerable, brittle - cracked open and exposed. Goro felt like he could dip his fingers inside his chest cavity and pull his heart free with little effort, could almost imagine the damp warmth fluttering against his palm. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Akira turned to look at him, his eyes dark and inscrutable. 

“What do you want, Goro?” he asked softly, his voice curiously raw. He looked like he’d break into pieces if pressed too hard, glimmers of unshed tears threatening to cling to his dark eyelashes. 

Goro smiled. 

He lifted his hand from Morgana’s slumbering body and reached out. Akira watched him, but didn’t shy away, his grey eyes wide enough that Goro could see the flecks of blue in his irises, how the grey darkened into limbal rings along the edges. Goro’s fingers curled into that dark, wild hair, almost cupping the back of Akira’s head. 

His hair was soft between his fingers, and Goro tightened his grip, forcing Akira’s head to tilt a fraction of an inch to the left. The harsh light of his living room caught his eyes all wrong, cast too stark shadows across his cheeks, but Goro still drank up the glimmer of tears clinging to thick eyelashes, the way those grey eyes stared at him as if to say  _ ‘do your worst’. _

“I want to see you cry,” Goro confessed in a low, hushed tone, trying not to rouse Morgana dozing on his lap, leaning in until they were almost nose to nose. Akira closed his eyes, trying to turn his head away - stopped only by Goro’s hand clenching into his hair, “Don’t hide it.”

“I’m an ugly crier,” Akira whispered, his bottom lip trembling a little, his eyelashes fluttering, “You - weirdo. Goro, you’re such a freak.”

“So says the murderer,” Goro said, and it was insane, what they were saying. He didn’t care. Haru and Futaba will crucify him for this later, maybe, but he didn’t care that Akira was a murderer. He killed trash, and maybe Wakaba was a grey area, but Goro had no personal stake in the lives Akira had taken, and he looked so pretty brought to the edge like this, straddling the line of sanity - Goro wanted to crack him apart again. He wanted to see him tumble headfirst into that insane desperation back in the Engine Room, to know that he had the power to tear that annoying showman’s mask off him.

“You stared at me like that, back in Shido’s…” Akira trailed off, realisation flickering in his eyes.

Goro tightened his grip in his hair, until he was sure it was painful.

“Cry,” he ordered roughly. 

And like he’d been waiting for it, possibly for the two years he slaved for his pointless, petty revenge, Akira’s resolve fractured and crumbled and he cried. 

* * *

In retrospect, that had been the perfect time to kiss him. 

Goro stared up at his ceiling, wide awake despite the late hour at this realisation. Akira crying, sobbing his ugly little heart out, yet so quietly, so softly, muffling the noise into his palm while Goro stroked his hair and watched and imprinted the sight to memory…

He should’ve pulled his hand away and kissed him. 

Goro rolled over, staring at the wall instead as he gently boxed up that thought and memory and buried it deep. No, that had been the worst time to kiss him. Akira was raw and aching, hungry for  _ something _ when his petty dream had been shattered ungracefully at his feet. To kiss him then… Goro felt both thrilled and disgusted with himself at knowing it would’ve paved the way for him to crush Akira’s spirit between his palms.

He didn’t want to crush him. He wanted him spiralling apart. He loved his unbridled fury. He adored his tears. He enjoyed playing with his different masks, and personas, and mind games that left the both of them frustrated and annoyed and excited. A self-destructive push-pull. To kiss him then would’ve been both perfect and the worst fucking thing he could do. 

Goro rolled onto his back again and sighed.

“Mm, Crow…?” Morgana’s sleepy voice roused from somewhere close to his hip, “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” Goro muttered, “I’m fine.” 

He seriously, desperately, needed to get this under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh g h huh yeah

**Author's Note:**

> YOU CAN BLAME POI FOR INFECTING ME WITH THE BRAINWORMS FOR THIS!!!
> 
> Anyway, this is a oneshot series, so updates will range from short to long, and may not exactly be in chronological order. I hope y'all enjoy this self-indulgent AU, and also check out these amazing fanarts of the concept: 
> 
> **Maha's Art**  
> [Role Swap Look!](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1322532051422236676)  
> [Valentine's Day](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1360643429034840066?s=20)  
> [Interrogation Room](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1323561645952638976)  
> [2/2 Day](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1324360582317879301)  
> [Pocky Day](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1326502183844667394)  
> [First Palace Visit Fanart!](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1328806530280534017)  
> [MC!Goro's Awakening Fanart!](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1328808331411132418?s=20)  
> [3rd Sem Akira and Goro!](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1343633757211942914?s=20)  
>   
>  **Featherybagel Art**  
> [White Mask Akira!](https://featherybagel.tumblr.com/post/634004816189931520/first-drawing-ive-posted-in-days-and-its-a-swap)  
>   
>  **My Art**  
> [Akira and White Mask](https://twitter.com/kivaember/status/1344091633990717440)


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